


Of Marriage and Other Binds

by GizmoTrinket



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Dom/Sub, Bisexual John Watson, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Coming In Pants, Dom Sherlock, Gay Sherlock, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sub John, Suicidal Thoughts, Virgin Sherlock, references to the pilot episode, sub drop/dom drop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-04-05 12:32:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14044344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GizmoTrinket/pseuds/GizmoTrinket
Summary: Sherlock Holmes was an unconventional Dom, he liked being tied down, liked having sensation play done to him instead of doing it to others. He tested as a dominant simply because he found giving up control terrifying. He found no comfort in it.John Watson was an unconventional sub, he hated being roughed up, humiliated or used. He tested as a submissive simply because he found following orders soothing. He revelled in it.They both thought they'd never find someone to suit their needs so they didn't bother looking. Unfortunately, this put their relationship status in the hands of the government.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you only read the tags please go read the summary. This is not your typical D/s au. Don't say I didn't warn you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [Couldbeamidget](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Couldbeamidget/pseuds/Couldbeamidget) for the beta on this chapter! <3

"Just wait here . We'll call you back when we're ready."

Sherlock wasn't sure he was ready. He'd read the pamphlets, so he knew what testing involved. He wasn't nervous about that. What he was nervous about was what would happen after, when he got his designation. He knew most people went in knowing what they were, or at least favouring a specific designation. There were three options and Sherlock didn't know which one was worst. A person could be a Dom and have to be responsible for another person, namely their sub. Sherlock didn't like the idea of being tied down like that--innuendo not included. He actually found being bound rather relaxing, which is why Sherlock thought he’d probably end up being designated as a sub or, god forbid, a switch.

If he was designated a sub, eventually he'd belong to a Dom. He'd have no say in his life. His Dom would keep him locked in a gilded cage, only to be let out to service them. He'd be expected to enjoy living like that too. It wasn't to say that subs weren't allowed to have their own lives; there had been a lot of social reform regarding sub rights. But unless there was extreme abuse involved, people figured the Dom knew best. Sherlock knew this outcome was what Mycroft was hoping for. After Sherlock was sent to rehab, his brother was always commenting that Sherlock needed someone to look after him. Sherlock knew Mycroft had a file of Doms, and was just waiting for Sherlock to get his designation so he could force one of them onto him. Sherlock was sure they were all advantageous matches, from the best schools and with the best families. In the upper echelons of society subs weren't people; they were trophies. Sherlock shuddered in disgust. If he were from a lower-class family it would be different. He could find a job in a structured environment and put off being collared until the matching program made him (well, they called it “marriage” but it was essentially the same thing). But he wasn't lower-class so it didn't matter.

And then t here were switches ,  t he least socially acceptable of all the designations. The freaks. If Sherlock really thought about it, and he had despite trying hard not to, he figured he'd be a switch. These were the people who tested as a sub or a Dom on one test , despite  testing as the opposite on the other two.  Switches  were the reason people were tested three times. Sometimes a switch would be in a dominant mood one day and a submissive one on another. Of course, even if there were endless tests , a switch or two could slip through the system. That's why designation was changeable until a person reached  the age of  twenty-seven. One would think switches would be the most common designation, but most people were born as a Dom or a sub and were happy as such. They didn't go back for endless testing unless their designation didn't feel right. Even then , they were given counselling to see if the problem wasn't with their designation but with their partner before they could test again.

Sherlock was sitting in the testing office at twenty-six years of age, not because he wanted to be labelled a switch, but because he'd never bothered with testing until now. Legally, he couldn't wait any longer. And since the tests for finding a person's designation had a sexual component, they couldn't be taken as a minor. So, no one could have forced Sherlock to do so when he was younger.

\----

"I ain't having no sub as a damn doctor. Go get me a real one!"

John rolled his eyes. If this man was well enough to complain, he wasn't about to die like he'd been wailing about earlier. "It's me, or death. Don't worry. I don't mind letting you lose your leg, but you might miss it."

"Fuck you! You should be on your knees, not making jokes about your betters. Now, **go get me a real doctor.** " The man's tone was forceful, and it was clear he was a strong dominant. However, John felt no need to obey his order.

John strongly suspected this injury was friendly fire , as most of the army was made of subs who were willful and didn't want to be owned by a Dom trying to take their freedom from them. (John suspected the man in front of him was one of those.)

Since subs were allowed to do whatever they wanted until they had a Dom , the army was a natural place for subs like John to go. Subs liked taking orders ; when someone told one to jump , they jumped  and didn't say it was below them  to do so . Of course, a lot of Doms joined up too (there had to be people giving orders). Subs weren't generals ; hell, John was only a captain because he was a doctor and he had to undergo so many tests to be allowed to move past field nurse  that he  still got a headache  when  thinking about it.

"Now look here you little shit, I've had about enough as I can take from you. I am not your sub, so you don't get to order me around. I outrank you, so when I tell you to lie back and let me examine your leg, your response had better be lying your worthless back on that goddamned bed and letting me see your fucking leg. Got it?"

The man was taken aback. John was sure he'd never been disobeyed by a sub before. After a moment's consideration, he  lay back and said, "Yes, sir."

John nodded and got to work.

\----

The notification crossed Mycroft's desk.

The test measured dominant strength or submissive receptiveness in three situations: natural, sexual and danger. The numbers ranged from negative ten, indicating extreme receptiveness, to positive ten, indicating extreme strength. Sherlock's file would also contain his survey, a document the government made people fill out to help match them. People weren't required to give their forms for government matchmaking until thirty, but they were strongly encouraged to do so earlier.

Mycroft knew he'd never be able to convince Sherlock to try private matchmaking. His hope was that he would be able to find a match for his brother--because he knew if it were up to Sherlock he'd never find a partner no matter whether he was a dominant, submissive or switch. He’d end up in an arranged marriage, and he’d make his partner’s life hell; at least until they were granted a divorce. Then he’d be up for another match, and Mycroft had no desire to go through all that.

The marriage system was in place to help both Doms and subs. If Doms went without a submissive for too long, they became agitated, stressed, and started cracking mentally; sometimes using their dominance on random subs and lesser Doms. On the other hand, if subs went without a dominant for too long they became frail, sick and more susceptible to unwanted advances. The two designations needed each other and since collaring was considered sacred, marriage was invented to keep everyone safe and sane.

Mycroft took a deep breath before opening the file that contained Sherlock's test responses.

**Name: William Sherlock Scott Holmes AKA Sherlock Holmes**

**Age: 26**

**Test Results:**

Test 1: n:6.2, s:2.4, d:9.7

Test 2: n:4.5, s:1.9, d:9.8

Test 3: n:7.7, s:3.6, d:10

**Designation: D**

**Orientation: G**

**Limits:**

The file went on, but Mycroft didn't bother reading it; he knew all he needed to know from that information alone. Besides, he didn't really want to know what his brother preferred in the bedroom. Sherlock was an erratic Dom. Usually, strength values were all similar (although it was common for the last one, danger, to be highest). Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to think about how to match the mess in front of him. What sub would want a Dom with a strength score above a five outside of the bedroom and below a three between the sheets?

Mycroft had harboured hope that his little brother would be a sub, but he knew deep down that he wasn't. Sherlock didn't take orders from anyone unless it suited him (and even then he sometimes refused on principle), so he was clearly a strong Dom. Mycroft had only collected the names of potential Doms so that he had every base covered, in case Sherlock was just a wilful sub. He put the folders containing various Doms to the side and opened the ones containing subs. None of these would work. Mycroft had assumed Sherlock would have a score of an eight or so sexually - in the brief moment he allowed himself to think on it. The subs he'd chosen all kept this in mind.

In addition, there was another insurmountable problem. A strong-willed sub would be needed, or Sherlock would just steamroll his other half. But, strong-willed subs typically liked a firm hand in the bedroom. Otherwise, they couldn't get into their subspace.

Mycroft wondered if perhaps he shouldn't try to find a sub that would cater to Sherlock's every whim. He was sure Sherlock would like it and if the sub enjoyed running out to fetch thirty different types of apples at two in the morning, then what was the harm? Mycroft knew that once Sherlock had a sub he'd naturally become more responsible.

Taking a fortifying breath Mycroft looked at Sherlock's sexual profile.

Well, that idea’s out, Mycroft thought. Of course, all the boxes had little "t"s for tentative next to them since Sherlock had never actually had sex before, but it was still not a typical dominant's profile.

Sherlock's scores made him the ideal Dom for an abused sub. One whose limits had been broken by their previous Dom so many times, they couldn't handle a forceful Dom in the bedroom anymore. However, subs still needed a guiding hand for daily life. Mycroft thought he could even find several that would accept Sherlock's preferences. However, Mycroft wasn't going to pursue that avenue. He knew his brother didn't have the patience to provide the nurturing relationship such a sub would require.

Mycroft considered his options before calling Anthea. He had her put in an alert in the system so that if a sub meeting his specifications became available, he'd be notified. He knew that Sherlock would be suspicious if he didn't try to meddle though, so Mycroft gathered the worst of the candidates and told his driver to take him to Montague Street where he would play the role of overbearing big brother.

After that, he would return to work. He'd take the next few folders over tomorrow, then take the last few a week after that. He'd pretend to give up until the right sub appeared. He'd have to arrange a way for them to meet where it seemed like chance. He couldn't plan for that now, he would do that based on the sub in question so it'd seem natural.

Mycroft returned to his office with a migraine and thought, Caring really isn't an advantage.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft plays match maker.

**Name: William Sherlock Scott Holmes AKA Sherlock Holmes**

**Age: 30**

**Designation: D**

**Orientation: G**

******Match Found******

**Name: John Hamish Watson**

**Age:  35**

**Designation: S**

**Orientation: B**

Mycroft clicked on the link that would take him to John's profile. He read it through twice, not believing in luck but uncertain what else this could be. It was too perfect.

Sherlock had just turned thirty, all attempts at chance meetings with potential matches had failed. He was officially in the matching system now. Mycroft had all potential matches run through him first--he didn’t want his brother to end up with someone completely unsuitable--and had “accidentally” deleted three sub profiles so far.

This one, though, had real promise.

Mycroft did a thorough background check before calling for his assistant. "Anthea?"

"Yes?"

“Clear my schedule for two weeks from today.”

“Why, sir?” Anthea was startled and Mycroft understood why, he never cleared his schedule and he had an appointments scheduled. They’d need an excuse.

“Tell them I’ve had an emergency.” He couldn’t very well tell them that emergency was going to be his baby brother storming in demanding that Mycroft stop his marriage ceremony. He’d hold the mail so the envelope wouldn’t be delivered until it was convenient. If only he could always plan his brother’s tantrums.

\----

John's life was in shambles. He'd been shot trying to save a soldier. He'd heard the call to retreat but didn't heed it, he could save the other sub, he just needed time, a few seconds was all. John looked up and blinked rapidly. He wasn't going to think of all the brave soldiers who were gunned down trying to save him. He wasn't going to think about how the other sub, his friend, died anyway because there was no other doctor to help. John unclenched his fist and set about doing the exercises that didn't seem help the tremor.

Ella told him to write a blog about everything that happened to him but nothing happened to him. Ella told him to put in for a private matching to get him through until marriage and John just barely managed not to laugh. What Dom would want him? He was headstrong, independent... damaged... old. Only thirty-five but without any submissive training, professional or private. He had PTSD for Christ sakes. John came home and cleaned the weapon he'd smuggled into the country and didn't tell Ella that if he started writing about his pointless life he'd end it.

It was bad enough that his profile was now in the government’s matching system. He’d been granted an out while he was in the military. Subs were owned by the military while they served and even though they weren’t (officially) sexually serviced the orders were enough to keep a sub both physically and mentally healthy.

He looked at his collar and sighed.

It was pointless to think about that now. He’d soon belong to a stranger with a ring on his finger instead of a collar around his neck. He wasn’t looking forward to that. His sister had been married off and the stress had driven her to drink. Her poor sub was filing for a divorce.

They didn’t work well together although their profiles had been a ninety percent match. Just because their sexual preferences matched didn’t mean their personalities did.

The only thing that brought him comfort was that it’d be hard for him to find a match. He had unorthodox desires in the bedroom and finding a Dom that wanted what he did was difficult. Most of the women John had been with preferred pegging. John hated taking it up the arse. It was one of the reasons he didn’t try to date men.

John picked up his cane (proof that he needed a Dom in his life, according to his therapist, since there was nothing physically wrong with his leg). And went to go check his mail.

\----

Mrs Hudson came up with his mail.

Sherlock glared at her. He hated dealing with tedious things like bills.

She flipped through the envelopes, sorting them into piles, and stopped at a bright orange envelope.

“Sherlock, dear,” she said to get his attention.

He was paying attention though and he was frozen. That wasn’t a bill. Oh, no. Only one thing came in a bright orange envelope.

That was a matching envelope.

\----

John sat back on his bed. He’d only been back about a month, and already the bills were piling up. He probably shouldn’t have spent all that money smuggling his gun in and helping Harry pay for her divorce. His pension didn’t cover everything, even living in this horrible bedsit. It was old-fashioned but people believed that Doms took care of those things for their subs.

He flipped through the envelopes, diving the bills into “pay now” and “pay next month” (the second was alarmingly large) when he saw it.

An orange envelope.

His hands didn’t shake when he opened it despite the dread he felt.

**Congratulations!**

**_John H. Watson_ **

**You have been matched with**

**_William S. S. Holmes_ **

**Please inform the office if you are already collared. Otherwise, your wedding will be held on**

There was a date and an address below but John hardly saw them.

A man. He’d been matched with a man.

He rubbed his hands over his face. He knew that the government was supposed to take his preferences into account but they obviously hadn’t since they’d matched him with a man. Or, oh god, had he forgotten to update his profile from bisexual to heterosexual? John ground his teeth in anger.

John knew he could lie, he could find someone off the street and say he was already collared and he had forgotten to inform the government. But that would be punishable by fines. The Dom was supposed to register the collar before asking the sub and if the sub accepted they were to go sign the paper after the ceremony. People acted spontaneously with collaring all the time and the law really wasn’t enforced unless one of the people had been matched.

Well, thinking about this was useless. He didn’t know any Doms willing to lie and he didn’t have the money to pay the fee.

It looked like he was getting married.

He flopped back on the bed and threw his arm over his eyes.

After a moment he decided he was being dramatic. Just because his sister’s match hadn’t worked out didn’t mean his wouldn’t. And the government provided marriage counselling. If the man was truly terrible he could save up for a divorce, and it would be easier to get a job when he was married.

 _Yes, this will be fine,_ he told himself. He tried to make himself believe it but couldn’t quite manage it.

\----

Sherlock stormed into his brother’s office waving the bright orange paper.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he demanded.

“I believe it means you’ve been matched and you’re to be wed,” Mycroft simpered.

Sherlock glared at his brother. “I know that. I mean, why haven’t you stopped it. Why did you match me?”

“I don’t have time to run your life, brother mine. I assume that because you’re thirty the system has put you in for matching and, based on your presence here with that paper, you’ve been matched. When is the wedding?”

“Why? You won’t come.”

“No, but Mummy and Daddy will want to.”

Sherlock recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “You’re not going to stop this? I’ve been matched. Can’t you tell them I’ve already collared a sub or that I’m unsuitable?”

“You are neither. I think having a sub will be good for you. I know my own sub has been a calming presence in my life.”

“Do something,” Sherlock demanded. He wouldn’t beg. He tried to think of something he could say that would convince his brother, but nothing came to mind.

“Since you insist, I’ll attend the wedding. When is it?”

Sherlock snarled and left.

Mrs Hudson was fluttering around his flat with the duster when he got home.

“Mrs Hudson!” he shouted, aghast.

“What, dear?”

“You’re ruining everything. What have I told you about dusting?”

“Yes, but you’ll be having a sub soon. Don’t you think it should be tidied up a bit? You want your first impression to be a good one.” Mrs Hudson frowned a bit with a thought. “You will be living here, won’t you, Sherlock?”

He didn’t know. He wasn’t allowed contact with John until the ceremony. It was an obvious attempt by the government to keep people from deciding they hated each other and fleeing the country. The fact that his marriage was in three days was another sign they wanted to speed things along. It took most people more than three days to up and leave. After the ceremony, they’d be given counselling and there they’d decide where they wanted to live and discuss limits and all the other things Sherlock wanted no part of. Maybe he’d be lucky and this John wouldn’t want to live with him. It wouldn’t be unheard of for a married couple to live apart. As long as the time they spent together equalled three months of the year the government didn’t care. And if John didn’t want to have sex with him he’d be spared talking about limits.

What else did these counsellors talk about? Sherlock made a mental list of things to research.

The first thing on that list will be looking up John H. Watson and finding out exactly what he was getting himself into.

\----

John searched the internet for William Holmes, William S. Holmes, William S. S. Holmes, and W. Holmes with no luck. It was like the man didn’t exist. Sure, there were a few William Holmes with social media accounts but their photos made it clear they all either already had subs collared or were subs themselves.

He knew that even though several people had multiple subs the matching system didn’t allow subs to go to Doms that already had a sub collared.

But, what if his Dom had a sub he was dating and just hadn’t collared yet? What if his new Dom resented him? He was already in bad enough shape that his Dom will probably be disappointed when he saw him.

John felt sick.

He hated this system. He hated everything about it. He hated what it did to his parents, he hated what it did to his sister, he hated that he was actually looking forward to seeing his Dom because he couldn’t pay his bills and he was a mess mentally and physically and he hated that he missed having someone telling him what to do.

\----

Sherlock searched the internet for John H. Watson. He didn’t come up with anything useable. John was a common name and the surname didn’t help weed out enough people. There was always the chance that John didn’t have any social media accounts, like him.

He could go to Mycroft, his brother had to have a dossier on the man. He also didn’t believe that Mycroft hadn’t meddled in the matching either.

Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair.

Tomorrow. His wedding was tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on Friday.

Mycroft had his sub abduct John H. Watson off the street. He waited in the warehouse, sitting on the chair getting text updates from Anthea. She had him, he was trying to chat her up. Mycroft frowned at that. Sure, Anthea didn’t have a collar but she was wearing his ring. And she was a sub. Could John not see that or did he not care?

Anthea and Mycroft didn’t have a romantic attachment. In fact, they didn’t even live together. She worked for him ten hours a day, six days a week. Both of them sought comfort in other’s beds and Mycroft had told Anthea that she was free to find someone to collar her if she so wished. But she was happy with their arrangement as well.

She was one of the few people Mycroft trusted.

His mobile pinged and her text told him they were pulling into the building now.

He stood, smoothed any possible wrinkles out of his suit and struck a pose.

\----

John exited the car, leaning heavily on his cane. He wasn’t scared, even though most people in his position would be, he was angry. His wedding was tomorrow and as little as he was looking forward to it he wanted to be prepared. His dress uniform was being taken in (he’d decided on it for his wedding suit, he couldn’t exactly afford a new one), and he’d been on his way to collect it when the phones had started ringing.

He looked at the man standing with an umbrella. John had hoped to have the upper hand by having a weapon (his cane) but no luck there. The man across was clearly a Dom and John didn’t know what training he had. With a bum leg, a shaky hand and no Dom himself he was about as weak as he could get.

The man had no interest in John, though. Through their conversation, it became clear that this Dom was only interested in his future husband.

John wasn’t tempted by the offer of money. Sure, he wasn’t a wealthy man and he could really use the cash and he didn’t know if his new Dom would provide for him… but it wasn’t a proper way to start out a relationship. He liked to think he had some honour and he wasn’t going to sully it by spying on someone he was supposed to trust.

Thankfully the man let him go after a few more threats. John wasn’t sure what he would have done if the Dom had tried to do more than that. It was obvious the man had some training, not as much as John but enough that he wasn’t helpless. It would have been a difficult fight and John was happy to avoid it. Even though he’d had to endure the man’s touch.

When the car stopped in front of the alteration shop John didn’t bother trying to hit on the woman again. He’d seen the ring on the Dom’s finger and he figured she belonged to him. He’d only tried in the first place because she wasn’t collared and he wanted to have penetrative sex one last time before he was married. Who knew after tomorrow if he’d ever get another chance.

After he tried on, accepted and paid for his uniform he went back to his flat. He had wanted to go to Harry’s and tell her he’d been matched in person but after all that he wasn’t in the mood.

He phoned her instead.

“What?” she snapped when she answered.

No _hello, how are you, nice to hear from you, what have you been up to._

John held in a sigh. He could tell by the tilt of her words she’d already had more than a few. Thank Christ she wasn’t slurring yet, she might remember what he had to say.

“I have some news.”

“Yeah? Me too. Clara wants me brought up on charges, says I’ve been emotionally abusing her. Have you ever heard such a crock of shit?”

Clara had promised John that she wouldn’t press charges if Harry behaved herself during the divorce. Clearly, Harry had said something. Again.

“Why don’t you just apologize. I’m sure she’ll drop the charges if you just—”

“Why do you always take her side?!” Harry snapped, cutting him off.

“I’m not taking her side, I just—”

“I don’t know why you bother calling. All you do is dump on me.”

“I’m not dumping on you. I actually had something to say—”

“Yeah? You always call when you need something. What is it this time? I don’t have the money to pay you back if that’s what you’re after.” She sniffed and added snidely, “Even though you said you didn’t expect it back.”

“Bloody hell, Harry,” John was reeling. The siblings didn’t have the best relationship and he knew the divorce was hard on his sister (even though she was the one who started proceedings) and of course she was always more difficult when she’d been drinking but this was unreal.

“Sorry. I’m sorry, Johnny.” She sniffled loudly. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just a mess.”

No kidding.

“I know. And I don’t want to make things harder for you. If this could have waited I would have put it off,” John said.

“What is it?” she asked wetly.

“I’ve been matched. My wedding is tomorrow. If you want to give me away—”

“Oh, Johnny. I…. Yeah. I would normally. But…. This isn’t like a collaring. Have you even met your new….”

“Husband?” John guessed at finishing her sentence. When she didn’t say anything he assumed he’d guessed correctly. “No, of course not.”

“Do you need me?”

John’s hope died and his shoulders fell. “No.”

“Thanks.” She sniffled again. “And congratulations.”

“Thanks,” he said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his tone. “And, as a wedding gift, can you just apologize to Clara and try to get through the divorce. Don’t let her antagonize you.” He added that last bit so it wouldn’t sound like he was taking Clara’s side. He knew his sister was the antagonist (most of the time).

“Yeah,” Harry said with a hiccup. “’course.”

“Thank you.” John didn’t know what else to say.

Harry seemed at a loss too.

John gave up and rang off.

He didn’t blame his sister for not wanting to come. And he hadn’t been to her wedding so he didn’t hold it against her. (Even though he’d been in another country being shot at, at the time.) Still, he didn’t have any other family and he probably should bring at least one witness. He didn’t want his new Dom thinking he was incapable of friendship.

Most of the people he knew were overseas but he thought his nurse, Murray, might be on leave. He had his email address. It wasn’t much notice but it was his best shot.

\----

Sherlock tugged at his sleeves, trying to get them to sit properly under the suit jacket. He hadn’t gone out to buy a new suit for this. He figured John would either like him or he wouldn’t (more likely wouldn’t) and that he didn’t need to pretend to be something he wasn’t. It’s not like any illusion would last long anyway. He couldn’t change who he was, he’d tried and it didn’t work.

He attached his buttonhole, making sure the flowers sat perfectly. Mummy would skewer him if he didn’t do this properly.

She came in and smoothed the jacket over his shoulders.

“He’s here,” she said.

Sherlock eyed her.

She didn’t bother putting on a mask, even going so far as to say her thoughts aloud, “He’s good-looking, and in the military.”

If he was in the military why was he getting married? Weren’t subs in the military like him, married to their work? Sherlock didn’t know and he disliked not knowing. He was eager for the ceremony to start now so he could see his sub and deduce everything himself.

If Mummy knew more she wasn’t giving the information away.

Mycroft strode in with Anthea and Daddy.

“Great, let’s everyone just come in.”

Mummy shot Sherlock a look. “No need to be nervous, dear. I’m sure he’ll love you.”

“Nervous? Who said anything about being nervous?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“I heard him talking to the official, he doesn’t have anyone to give him away so they’re going to skip that bit,” Daddy said.

“Doesn’t have anyone to give him away?” Mummy was scandalized. She abhorred sub abandonment.

Sherlock dearly hoped John didn’t have any family or friends that were Doms. If he did and Mummy found out they hadn’t come to his wedding she’d flay them.

And Sherlock wasn’t sure he’d stop her.

It wasn’t right to leave a sub to their own devices for too long. It was like leaving a Dom with no one to order about, they’d go stir crazy. Subs needed orders to follow to feel useful. Some needed more orders than others. And if there was no one about to give orders the sub might follow orders from anyone, do anything, just to satisfy that need.

He’d worked a case, once, shutting down sub slavery rings. The subs had been picked up off the streets lured in with a strong commanding Dom’s orders. They’d been so starved in their day to day lives for order most had come willingly.

Those that had started trouble been kept drugged and had all been collared by their captors. Most of them had either started out so submissive or had been rendered so they’d needed direction to eat and drink.

Sherlock hoped John wasn’t a sub that needed to be told how to dress and what to eat. It was tedious enough looking after his own transport he really couldn’t be responsible for another person’s.

He was so involved with his thoughts he hadn’t noticed that his father had left and was shocked when he returned, saying it was time.

“Mm,” Sherlock hummed and straightened his sleeves again. He wished he’d looked up what the ceremony involved. He’d been to Mycroft’s but he’d mostly deleted it. He was regretting that now. He didn’t want to look foolish but he was unprepared.

Mummy put her hand on the small of Sherlock’s back and guided him out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'm late by two-ish hours. I'm sorry.

John waited anxiously. He’d looked up marriage ceremonies so he knew what to expect but he was worried about his new Dom. He’d been peeked in on by an older female Dom (he assumed she was the mother of his future Dom) she’d claimed she’d gotten lost but John knew better. He took comfort in the softness in her expression. He thought she approved.

Murray was on leave and he squeezed John’s upper arm in support. They were waiting for the word that the official was ready for them.

“I’m sure he’ll be great, John,” Murray said.

“Yeah,” John said without feeling. If this William Holmes person pushed for a sexual relationship he hoped it would be like the one John had with his commander. Sholto had respected John’s no penetration rule and they’d gotten along fine with hand and blow jobs.

The Dom who had kidnapped John stuck his head in the room and John froze. What was he doing here? John readied for a fight, lifting his cane. The Dom seemed unimpressed.

“They’re ready for you,” he said and walked off.

John held his cane ready as he left the room. He wasn’t sure he wasn’t about to be kidnapped again. But when there was no one waiting for him in the hallway John relaxed a bit.

Murry walked in front of John when they got to the main room. John focused on not falling with his cane. His leg ached and he had to grind his teeth to make it across the room.

He didn’t look up until he was in the spot he was supposed to stand.

“Oh,” John gasped.

His new Dom, William, was tall, pale with long dark curly hair and intense silver eyes.

John felt pinned by his gaze.

The official started talking and the Dom looked away. John took a couple breaths to try to get himself under control. He examined the man while his attention was elsewhere. He was almost strange looking but not unpleasant. Not at all unpleasant. In fact, John would say William was way out of his league.

Then he spoke in the richest deepest baritone and John’s knees went weak.

“I promise to support and steer you, John Watson,” he said.

John barely heard the official’s words. Thank god he had practised or he wouldn’t have known what to say.

“I promise to support and obey you, William Holmes,” John repeated.

The words made the Dom’s expression sour. John was surprised. His original expression hadn’t indicated that he found John unsuitable. Did John do something to make that change?

“Exchange the rings,” the official said.

The rings were provided by the government, copper adjustable things that didn’t make a full circle.

John’s hand shook when he put on his Dom’s ring and he winced.

The Dom gently and gracefully slid John’s ring into place.

“You may now command your sub,” the official said.

William looked alarmed. He floundered, his mouth opening and closing.

John stared at him. Traditionally the first command was to have the sub kneel. But maybe his Dom noticed that he had a cane and was trying to come up with something different. The thought made John hopeful, if he’d been matched with a thoughtful Dom it’d make life a lot easier.

\----

Sherlock’s became breathless when he first caught sight of his sub. His uniform had been taken in poorly, he was too skinny, he was limping, he didn’t look up at anyone and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

Yet he was the most beautiful man Sherlock had ever laid eyes on. Sherlock wanted to peel him out of that uniform and take him to bed.

When navy eyes met his it took all his effort to look away.

Sherlock had scowled when the official and John said “William.” He’d told Mummy to tell the official to use Sherlock but obviously, Mummy hadn’t done so. Or maybe she had and there was some stupid useless rule that said it had to be his legal first name.

Then they’d exchanged rings. His sub had been shot and had slight nerve damage to his left hand, his dominant hand. But the tremors weren’t just from that. And the cane wasn’t always in use the way it should be if his leg were actually injured.

His sub had been abandoned. He hadn’t heard a command in quite some time. He was sure the government had counselling for subs that left the military, did they not give commands there? If not it was a grievous oversight. His sub had gone from hearing several commands a day to none at all.

“You may now command your sub.”

Sherlock opened his mouth but realized he had no idea what the proper command was. Would it be too much to tell John to kneel? That was only for collaring ceremonies, wasn’t it?

People were staring at him, at them. He hated it. His whole family had come for the wedding. His side of the room was full of uncles and cousins and aunts and people he didn’t care for and hadn’t seen for years. His grandmother was giving him a stern look.

He needed to do something.

_Why_ hadn’t he researched all this beforehand? Why had he been so focused on the counselling? _“You want your first impression to be a good one,”_ Mrs Hudson had said. And as much as he hated to admit it he did. So, he’d focused on the first time they’d interact. But it wasn’t the first time they’d interact. The ceremony was the first time.

He’d messed everything up.

His mother’s eyes were wide with incredulous disapproval.

Sherlock remembered that his parents wanted to hold a reception in the time between the ceremony and the first counselling session.

Well, that would be awful for him and awkward for his sub. On the sub’s side, there was one person, obviously an old army friend. He was wearing his dress uniform too and the government’s collar. He was on leave and was clearly the only person his John had been able to ask to his wedding.

No, he wasn’t going to subject his sub to his family’s snide or pitying (depending on the family member) comments. John wouldn’t appreciate it and Sherlock didn’t want to endure it.

“Come along, John,” he said without any of his command. He’d gotten used to not using it since when he did he could make other Doms drop to their knees. He decided it was good he hadn’t, if he made John drop to his knees it might hurt him.

John looked a bit taken aback but followed anyway.

Sherlock ignored his family, stopped in his dressing room to grab his coat, and swept out of the building, John following. Sherlock slowed his pace so John wouldn’t get left behind.

That limp was the first thing he’d fix. He couldn’t be waiting around for his sub all the time.

He hailed a taxi and held the door open for John.

When they were both seated John asked, “Didn’t your family want to, I don’t know, take pictures or something?”

“Probably.” He really didn’t care.

It was quiet for a few seconds and John asked less tentatively, “Where are we going? We have an hour before our session.”

Sherlock didn’t know. He’d just wanted to escape. He had told the cabbie to take them to Baker Street without thinking. But they wouldn’t even have time to have tea before they needed to leave. He examined John, seeing if there was anywhere he needed or wanted to go.

“Do you want to change or do you want food? We only have time for one,” Sherlock said. He could see John was uncomfortable in his uniform and that he hadn’t eaten at all in at least twelve hours. Either way, he was going to be very uncomfortable at their appointment.

Sherlock didn’t want him to change out of his uniform but it would be easier for him to focus if John did.

“Oh, uh, change, I guess,” John said, surprise evident in his tone.

Sherlock didn’t understand why John seemed surprised. He dismissed it, rapped on the separator and had John give his address.

\----

John was embarrassed by his bedsit and he made Sherlock wait in the taxi while he ran up and changed. He didn’t know how he ended up with such a posh Dom. Shouldn’t they have matched him within his own social sphere? God, as if he weren’t pathetic enough. He really didn’t need to invite the comparison with that… specimen.

He looked at his oversized jumpers and jeans and wondered what he should wear. He decided on a nice button up and his best fitting jumper, a cable knit beige affair. He took out his best jeans and his good shoes. He only had a dark denim jacket, he’d been intending to get a real coat next month. Still, he took it so he wouldn’t get cold. He knew his Dom wouldn’t be impressed but at least he could show that he took care of himself.

There were two apples left from his last grocery trip and he grabbed them. They could eat them in the cab and this way they wouldn’t be too hungry during their appointment. Plus, John’s Dom wouldn’t try to stop for sandwiches on the way back. John could beg off and wouldn’t have to rely on him to pay. He couldn’t even afford a cup of coffee right now.

John fumbled and dropped his cane when he tried to lock his door. “Damn,” he said with a sigh.

“Here,” a deep voice said, and a dark figure picked up his cane for him.

“Oh, thanks.” John gave his Dom a tight smile. He didn’t really need looking after. He hoped his Dom wouldn’t buy him clothing and expect to feed him. He wanted to be independent.

William narrowed his eyes. “Come on, we’re going to be late,” he said and stalked off down the hall.

“Right,” John said. Something in his chest fell. He had somehow disappointed his Dom. Things weren’t going well at all.

\----

Sherlock tried to wait patiently, but he was not a patient person. He wasn’t familiar with the inside of this particular block of flats and he was curious as to where his sub was living. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore and he went in. He had hoped to barge in on his sub and see how he was taking care of himself but John was outside locking the door when Sherlock got there.

“Damn,” John said when he dropped his cane.

There was something cute about how cuddly his sub looked. It was completely different than seeing him in his dress uniform. It made Sherlock want to coddle him and he picked up John’s cane before he thought.

“Here,” he said and handed his sub his cane. He was going out of his way to be nice and caring. It was absurd, he didn’t want a reliant sub but something in Sherlock made him want to provide. He’d never felt this way around a sub before. Of course, he’d never wanted a sub before.

He wanted this one.

John, according to his deductions, was fierce, loyal, romantic, dangerous, and (relatively) smart. There were things he was hiding and things that Sherlock couldn’t quite get a read on yet.

After taking the cane John thanked him with a tight smile and Sherlock realized he’d failed. He shouldn’t have done that, his sub wanted to be independent. It was good, Sherlock really didn’t have it in him to provide everything a typical sub needed. Still, he should be adjusting his behaviour according to his sub’s needs, not doing things that irritated him. It rankled Sherlock that he’d gotten it wrong.

Sherlock covered his awkwardness with an aloof mask and told John to come. But, it came out as annoyed. Which was… not good.

Well, maybe he could get it right in counselling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm amazed by the response to this story. A big thank you to everyone who commented, kudoed and bookmarked. You are all really motivating me.

“Uh, William—” John cut himself off at his Dom’s expression and tried again, “—Mr Holmes, I mean—”

This time his Dom cut him off, “Sherlock, please.”

John was nonplussed. What kind of name was Sherlock? Was it a middle name? He tried not to let his confusion show. “Okay, Sherlock, would you like an apple?”

Sherlock looked down his nose at John’s offering. “No.”

Miffed, John took savage a bite of his apple. It’s not like he was being rude by offering, and Sherlock was too skinny. It was unhealthy.

They sat in silence until the cab stopped. Sherlock got out first and John followed, slamming the door behind himself. He juggled his cane with the second apple and the apple core, finally shoving both the latter in his pocket with a grimace.

John marched up to the door without waiting for Sherlock and entered the counselling centre. He had to lean heavily on his cane and he was irritated that it was no trouble for Sherlock to keep up. He asked the receptionist what room they were in and hobbled to the lift, pretending to ignore his large annoying shadow.

And the man couldn’t get more irritating. He was so graceful he seemed to glide as he walked and his long coat billowed out around those legs.

Those long, lean, graceful legs with those impeccably fitted trousers.

His thoughts had taken an alarming turn and he furrowed his brow as he chastised himself. He was supposed to be mad at him, not lusting after him like a helpless little sub in a daytime soap opera. His life was not some silly romance novel where he rode happily off into the sunset on a white steed with his Byronic prince charming! He needed to get himself under control, was thirty-five, for Christ sakes! Far too old to be mooning over a stranger.

A stranger he had to spend inordinate amounts of his future time with and a fantastic arse.

John had noticed (stared, really) after Sherlock when he left the ceremony. He imagined sinking between those plush cheeks, groaning as the tight passage gave way to his—

“John, come,” Sherlock ordered, startling John out of his highly inappropriate daydream.

The lift doors were open and Sherlock was standing inside with a strange expression.

John wondered why his Dom wasn’t using any command. At the same time, John was grateful he wasn’t. He felt such compulsion to follow Sherlock’s orders as it was that he feared if Sherlock unleashed a true command in that deep voice he’d be brought to his knees.

He limped into the elevator and stood a good distance from his new Dom.

What was John thinking? The man looked about twelve, certainly not thirty. It was almost indecent.

When the lift doors opened John let Sherlock lead and tried not to think about the arse hidden by that great coat.

\----

Sherlock could deduce how little food John had at home and declined the apple figuring it would be better for John to eat it, if not now then after their appointment. John was a proud man and Sherlock didn’t think he’d stand for Sherlock buying him food after they were done with the councillor.

Somehow that irritated John (Sherlock figured he’d injured John’s pride by declining).

John was mad at him all the way to the lift when, for no discernible reason, he became aroused.

Frankly, Sherlock found John’s behaviour alarming and he wondered at John’s mental state. He gave John a simple command, to get in the elevator, to see if he’d respond. He did, even following the order without undue hesitation.

He seemed embarrassed and Sherlock wondered how John would feel if he knew that Sherlock knew he’d been aroused.

Probably mortified.

Of course, he wouldn’t know that Sherlock had been staring at John’s arse the entire time he’d walked out in front. Admiring his legs in those dark jeans, licking his lips as he pictured the muscles in John’s broad shoulders as he moved. Thinking about John’s cock and how it would look. Would it match John, be short and wide? Or would it be thin and grow to an impressive length? How would it feel when John breached him for the first time?

Sherlock was grateful for his long coat.

John waited for Sherlock to exit the elevator first and followed two steps behind. Sherlock knew a lot of Doms wanted their subs to do that but Sherlock found it aggravating. He wanted to look at his sub, to reassure himself that John was there. Even though he could hear John and his cane clearly Sherlock wanted the visual confirmation. Maybe he wouldn’t when he knew John better and he could deduce his mood by his tread.

It was madness. Sherlock was better than this. He reminded himself that he didn’t want a sub, he had no interest in sex and the only thing that mattered was the work.

But, he’d put a ring on John’s finger. And when that piece of metal slid into place something clicked in Sherlock’s head. John was _his_ sub. John had been shot and abandoned but he still had the strength to march out of the cab and down the hallway. He was in an impossible situation but he hadn’t given up. He was strong. He made Sherlock want to be worthy of him. And they’d only just met. How deep would Sherlock fall for him after a month, a year?

It probably wouldn’t matter. After this appointment, John would probably laugh at him and call him a freak.

Sherlock stopped in front of a nondescript door and took a breath. He double checked the suite number written on the wall and turned the knob.

\----

John followed Sherlock into the office. While Sherlock confirmed with their counsellor that they were in the right place John looked around the room. He’d been right to walk behind Sherlock. The coat covered everything and John didn’t have anything to stare at. And since his mind was on Sherlock he wasn’t imagining him either. John’s nerves were so bad and his leg was so painful that John didn’t have the mental energy to spare thinking about what was below the flappy woollen thing.

Sherlock spun around the room and took a seat in one of the armchairs. John decided on the couch. He couldn’t decide if he was disappointed Sherlock hadn’t selected the couch so they could sit together or if he was glad Sherlock had given him space.

The counsellor handed them each a folder before sitting in the other armchair. Sherlock opened his immediately and John looked to the counsellor to see if he should do the same. She didn’t look disapproving so John decided to open his as well. Half of the folder had handouts, John flipped through those quickly, seeing pamphlets on safe sex, safe words and consent, resources for abuse and other standard things. The other side of the folder was much more interesting. His profile was on top, his scores on the cover page with pages stapled below them. John figured they were his limits and sexual profile. He didn’t check because there was a similar stapled packet below his with **Name: William Sherlock Scott Holmes AKA Sherlock Holmes** written across the top.

John glanced up at the counsellor to see if he was allowed to look but she was staring at Sherlock with a frown on her face. John glanced at him and saw that he’d abandoned the folder on the floor and had John’s profile open. He was examining it as one would a slide on a microscope.

Figuring it was ok John pulled out Sherlock’s profile.

**Limits:**

**Hard Limits: Unknown**

**Soft Limits: Unknown**

**Profile:**

**Key: G= give, R= receive, N= not interested, Not Applicable= N/A, Requirement= (r), Tentative= (t), Hard Limit= (h), Soft Limit= (s)**

**Penetration (vaginal): N/A**

**Penetration (anal): R(t)**

John looked at Sherlock sharply. Was he serious? He couldn’t be. There was a **t** , indicating the response was tentative. Sherlock had filled this out before he’d had sex. He’d probably changed his mind but never updated it.

**Oral Sex: G(t), R(t)**

**Nipple play: G(t), R(t)**

**Manual Stimulation of Genitals: G(t), R(t)**

**Bondage: R(t)**

With narrowed eyes, John looked at Sherlock. Doms didn’t like being bound. Had he taken this seriously at all or had he just made stuff up?

**Watersports: N(t)**

**Scat: N(t)**

**Bloodplay: N(t)**

Well, that was a relief.

**Body Modification (piercings): G(t), R(t)**

**Body Modification (tattoos): G(t), R(t)**

**Body Modification (scarification): N(t)**

**Body Modification (other) (*see notes): N(t)**

**Breath play: R(t)**

John stopped reading. It was pointless. His Dom clearly hadn’t taken this seriously. No Dom in their right mind would consider letting their sub choke them. It just wasn’t done. And everything on the page and—John checked—the following pages had t’s next to them. It wasn’t like the man was a virgin. He _had_ to have had some sort of sexual experience.

He flipped to the front of the packet and read Sherlock’s scores. It wouldn’t be a lie and he could actually learn something from them.

John wasn’t thrilled with the danger score. _He_ was the experienced one so he should be giving orders in a fight. But with a score like that he’d have no choice but to obey.

The sexual score was alarmingly low for someone with the other scores. John double checked and there was a little **G** for gay and not an **A** for asexual like John would have assumed from the packet. It was a nice that his Dom thought he’d like taking it up the arse but in his experience people thinking they’d like it and people actually liking it were completely different. And, it honestly looked like his Dom had just said random stuff to ensure he wouldn’t be matched. It wouldn’t be unheard of.

And what was up with the limits? The things Sherlock wasn’t willing to try should be a soft limit at least. Did it mean he was open to trying _anything?_ He’d indicated that he wasn’t interested in some things but that was meant to indicate that a person didn’t require that from their partner but would be willing to do so if they liked (as opposed to a limit which meant it wasn’t happening or there needed to be extensive discussion before it happening).

With a huff, John forced the papers back in the folder, slammed the folder shut, threw it on the floor and glared at his Dom.

\----

Sherlock took a seat in an armchair on the off chance that the counsellor would say something upsetting and John would turn to him for comfort (and because he didn’t want John to recoil or slide away from him when he read his profile).

He knew he was supposed to let the counsellor lead the appointment but when she handed over the folder that had John’s information in it he couldn’t help himself. He descended upon the information like a man starved.

**Name: John Hamish Watson**

**Age: 35**

**Test Results:**  
Test 1: n:-2.7, s:-6.3, d:0  
Test 2: n:-1.5, s:-4.1, d:0.9  
Test 3: n:-4.5, s:-7.2, d:-0.2  
Test 4: n:-4, s:-5.6, d:-1.9

_Fascinating!_ Sherlock thought. John wasn’t very receptive to commands outside the bedroom and he had a zero for danger and a positive score. They even tested him an additional time to see if he was a switch because of it. John, when in danger, wanted to give the commands, not obey them. Sherlock, with his scores, could make John obey him simply because he was more dominant.

The sexual scores were promising. It wasn’t rare for a sub to be more submissive inside the bedroom than in day to day life. And with John’s scores, it was possible that Sherlock would be able to get him into subspace with careful planning.

Which would be useful if he were planning on having sex with John. Which he wasn’t.

**Designation: Su**

**Orientation: B**

**Limits:**

**Hard Limits: Scat: G, R; Watersports: G, R; Blood Play: R; Body Modification (scarification): R; Beating (Hard): R; Fisting (anal): R; Infantilism: G, R; Penetration (anal, triple): R; Penetration (anal, double): R**

**Soft Limits: Sounding: R; Breathplay: R; Humiliation (public): R, Knife Play: G, R; Blood Play: G; Swapping: G, R; Body Modification (piercings): G, R; Body Modification (tattoos): G, R; Body Modification (scarification): G**

**Profile:**

**Key: G= give, R= receive, N= not interested, Not Applicable= N/A, Requirement= (r), Tentative= (t), Hard Limit= (h), Soft Limit= (s)**

**Penetration (vaginal): G**

**Penetration (anal): G**

**Oral Sex: G, R**

**Nipple play: G, R**

**Manual Stimulation of Genitals: G, R**

**Bondage: G, R**

The profile painted an interesting picture. John was not a trusting person. The profile painted a picture of a man who was cautious. Perhaps he’d had his limits pushed or broken before.

Sherlock breezed through the rest of the responses, finding they matched his remarkably well.

Then John smashed papers back into a folder, he had to try three times to get them in the pocket successfully. Sherlock watched, horrified, as John sent the folder flying to the ground and stared daggers at him.

John must have come to the conclusion that Sherlock was a virgin and was upset about it. Sherlock was ashamed. He’d never felt the need to have sex, to trust someone with his person, to endure the messy swap of bodily fluids on the promise of endorphins. Planning a scene sounded boring and not worth his time. Masturbation worked quite well for him when he needed it. He knew that he was a freak, being a virgin in his thirties, but he hadn’t really cared. It wasn’t relevant to his work. On the few times he’d imagined having a sub he’d always thought the sub would either hate him or at best tolerate him. Never that they’d want to have sex with one another.

Sherlock shrunk into his seat, humiliated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still looking for a beta. If you're interested let me know.

The counsellor cleared her throat. Once she had both men’s attention she said, “Well, I think we should start with sexual profiles.” When neither man contradicted her she continued, “Sherlock, let’s start with yours. I saw that you had ‘t’s next to all of your responses.” The man nodded but didn’t say anything. She decided to pry. “Why didn’t you update your sexual profile before turning thirty?”

“I didn’t need to,” Sherlock said, clearly uncomfortable.

“Why’s that?” she asked.

“Because the information hasn’t changed since I was twenty-six.”

She glanced over at John and saw his mouth hanging open. Before she said anything he interjected, “You’re a virgin? You? Seriously?”

Sherlock’s posture indicated John’s words had put him on the defensive. “So? Is that a problem?” he sneered.

John shook his head and glanced down, apparently ashamed. The counsellor could see this was upsetting Sherlock further. They were misunderstanding each other.

“John, answer the question,” she said.

“No, it’s not a problem. I just thought, with you looking like—” John waved his arm at Sherlock, “— _that_ , that you’d had sex. I can’t imagine it’d be hard to pull.”

“I consider myself married to my work. I’ve never had the urge to have sex so I haven’t bothered,” Sherlock said haughtily.

Since John looked rather crestfallen the counsellor said, “And now that you’re actually married? Does that change anything?”

Sherlock looked like he’d been cornered. After a second his whole demeanour changed and he was aloof. “I have no specific qualms regarding a sexual relationship. If anything the data will be useful to the work.”

Well, she’d hoped for more but clearly, she wasn’t going to get it. She decided to change the subject. “And what is your profession, Sherlock?”

He relaxed and became animated once more. “I’m a consulting detective. The only one in the world.”

“What does that mean?” John said, his body language more open.

“When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.”

John smiled and nearly laughed. “The police don’t consult amateurs.”

Sherlock bristled and opened his mouth. The counsellor sensed the coming words would be unkind so she jumped in. “And what do you do, John?”

“He was in the military, he’s having trouble getting a job now that he’s been invalided out, probably because of his psychosomatic limp. He’s trained to… be a doctor? Yes, a surgeon. But the tremble in your dominant hand makes that impossible now. You were shot somewhere, arm? No, shoulder. And even though that tremble comes and goes it’s not entirely psychosomatic.”

She was ready to jump in but the sub was already speaking.

“How did you know?”

“You use a cane while you walk but you don’t rely on it when you stand. It’s not impossible but unlikely you’d been shot twice, and you move your left arm stiffly. Your guest at the wedding had an RAMC tag, a nurse, and you were clearly the doctor on his team, you had captain’s insignia, being a sub it’s hard to gain such a high rank without some sort of additional training. So, you see? You were right.”

“Right about what?” he asked.

“The police don’t consult amateurs.”

Everyone was silent for a long moment, the counsellor was wondering if there was any way to salvage this appointment. If they requested a divorce immediately it reflected poorly on her.

“That was… brilliant,” John said.

The Dom blinked in surprise. “Was it really?”

“Extraordinary, truly… extraordinary.”

“That’s not what people usually say.”

“What do they normally say?” the sub asked with a glowing smile.

“Piss off,” the Dom said with a small smile.

The two just grinned at one another.

Before things started to get awkward the counsellor moved on to the list of subjects they needed to cover in their appointment.

“Living arrangements,” she said. “We recommend that the couple live with each other. It makes it easy to fulfil the time requirement.”

“My flat is in a central location. I don’t wish to give it up,” Sherlock said. “It even has a second bedroom.”

She frowned at that. It was recommended that couples engaged in regular intercourse to keep their relationship strong. She said, “John, is that ok with you?” to get through this part.

“I’d like to see it first,” he said.

“Great,” the counsellor said and moved on. “Budgeting. A lot of couples share money but some are uncomfortable. How are you going to handle bills?”

“I’ll pay my own and half the rent,” John said.

She could tell he wasn’t going to budge. Sherlock was frowning. She didn’t want an argument so she asked the next question, “Ok, let’s discuss command. How much is too much, how much is too little?” Before they spoke she said, “To give a clear idea, Sherlock, I want you to command John as you would in day to day life.”

The sub raised his hands, “Now, wait a minute. I don’t need—”

**“John, stand.”**

John popped to his feet, swayed and started to fall.

Sherlock leapt out of his seat and when it became clear that John wasn’t going to get back on the couch Sherlock helped him kneel.

The sub was panting, his hands curling into fists before relaxing then curling again. He was breathing heavily.

The counsellor was alarmed. She looked through her notes but didn’t see anything that would account for this reaction. He had a sister who was a Dom. He shouldn’t be reacting this way to a simple command.

Sherlock was flitting around John, his hands moving about, never holding still.

John let out a deep breath and pushed Sherlock away. He ground his teeth and was able to force himself back onto the couch.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked.

“Fine,” John spat angerly.

Sherlock rounded on the counsellor, “You should have known better. Why did you have me command him?” He was distraught, with good reason.

She winced. “It’s one of the things we have to do, so the sub knows what to expect with a command. Obviously, in this case, John shouldn’t be commanded until he adjusts.”

John was still breathing heavily out of his nose and Sherlock was standing very close to him.

The counsellor wondered if she should open an investigation. The sub was clearly abandoned. But, this Dom was very attentive. It looked like the sub would recover as long as he had his Dom. She made a note to have health and human services check up on them in a month or two.

“Have either of you taken any Dom or sub classes besides the mandatory school ones?”

They shook their heads. But John wasn’t looking up. In fact…

“Sherlock, your sub is at risk of a drop. You need to place your hand firmly but gently on the back of his neck, curl your fingers around…” Sherlock did as she said. “…Yes, like that.”

John relaxed and was soon breathing normally.

Once the Dom was back in his chair she had him pull out the pamphlet on sub drop and covered the most common ways to prevent it and what to do if it happened. She did this to let John have some time to himself, so he’d recover and wouldn’t feel the pressure of both of them watching him.

\----

John was humiliated. At first, the appointment was going well, he had to force himself away from the thoughts of all the ways he could take Sherlock’s virginity, and he’d even teased his Dom about his job. Plus, Sherlock didn’t put any pressure on him, moving into his flat would help with his expenses. And Sherlock had said there was a second room. If they decided not to have sex or if John found he needed space he had a place to go.

Then the woman had Sherlock give John a command. Sherlock told him to stand and at the same time the command was so strong he wanted to drop to his knees. His body warred with itself and he nearly fainted. He stood, obeying the command then Sherlock had to help him to his knees. He thought he might die of embarrassment.

If that wasn’t bad enough he nearly dropped. Over one little command. He hadn’t even been at risk of dropping in ten years.

Sherlock had loomed over him and he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Until Sherlock rested his hand on the back of John’s neck. His hand was warm and large. Strong, but gentle. It was nice and he had to force himself not to lean into the contact.

The counsellor got Sherlock to sit and she yammered at him while John recovered. He was grateful to her. He didn’t want those piercing eyes focused on him while he was feeling weak.

By the time she was focused on him, discussing Dom space and Dom drop and the difference between the two and what to do in each case, John was recovered.

\----

Sherlock was livid with himself. He should have known better! He knew John had been abandoned. He should have tempered his command. Made it a one on the scale instead of going full out. Then he’d have fulfilled the counsellor’s request and wouldn’t have put John at risk. How could he have been so stupid? This was primary school stuff!

Once he was sure John was fine he allowed himself to be led away. He listened to the counsellor explain sub drop carefully. He hadn’t deleted all the information about sub care from school, but he had deleted some (since he’d never thought he’d have a sub he cared about).

The counsellor moved on to Dom space and Dom drop before Sherlock was done with her. Although, he knew her knowledge was limited to the basics, being a sub herself. While she and John chatted Sherlock arranged all the sub care information on his hard drive. He found his hard drive was getting full and storing all sub info under “John” wasn’t going to work because some related only to crime. But, other information in the “sub” folder and sub-folders could help John in the future. He’d have to reorganize the whole thing. Perhaps he could do it in a different way so he’d get more storage space.

“Sex.”

The word pulled Sherlock out of his mind.

John said, “I’m not opposed, assuming my preferences and limits are respected. It’s not something I need, I mean, I can get by without. I’d like to be open and try to find different relationships out of our marriage if sex isn’t on the table. I—"

“No,” Sherlock said with finality.

“What?” John asked, befuddled.

Sherlock swallowed thickly. He shouldn’t do this, he should allow John to seek out competent partners. But he didn’t want to. He wanted John all to himself. He wanted to put a nice ring around his finger, _his_ collar around John’s neck. He wanted all of John all to himself. “No,” he said again.

“No, what? You don’t want an open marriage? You don’t want to have sex with me? Something else?”

“I don’t want an open marriage. I’m willing to try sexual things with you if that’s what you need.” It was hard to say that. It wasn’t that he was scared to have sex, per se. It was the same problem John had, really. He didn’t trust people. He didn’t want to open himself up, to ridicule, to pain, to rejection.

But, he trusted John.

He barely knew the man but he was drawn to him, every deduction made him more alluring. He could see himself falling in love with John. He should be pushing the sub away, he didn’t want that. Love can be a vicious motivator and it made people do irrational things. Never mind that loved ones always became targets. If he truly cared about John he’d keep him at arms distance.

But John was like a drug. He hadn’t been upset when Sherlock deduced him. He had smiled. They’d shared a moment. Sherlock couldn’t help wanting to know all about him, how does he take his tea? (With milk, but is there sugar?) How does he sleep? (Not well. Could Sherlock fix that?) How hairy are his toes? (Need more data.) What does his semen taste like? (Design experiments around John’s diet.)

“Sherlock?” the counsellor asked.

“Hm?” Sherlock looked up and focused on his surroundings.

The woman frowned and John looked upset. What had happened?

“John was saying he doesn’t want to pressure you into anything,” she said.

Sherlock read John’s body language. Oh, he thought Sherlock was pitying him.

He needed to say something honest, to show John his trust in him. And hopefully, earn his trust in return.

Now, how did he say, _“I’m scared. I don’t know what to do, how to do whatever it is that you’ll need. I can’t do relationships. You’re going to end up hating me and it will be more painful when you’re gone if we have had sex?”_

Sherlock blinked at himself in surprise. That was… a lot.

“I’ve never had any sort of relationship with a sexual component…” _“I’ve never had any relationship, period.”_ “…And I’m sure I will be inadequate at first…” _“Everyone hates me and I’m going to be rubbish at relationships.”_ “…I’ll do my best…” _“I can’t be what you want me to be. But I can try if that’s what it takes for me not to lose you.”_

He was going to keep talking but John slid down the couch and leaned forward to touch Sherlock’s knee. He was smiling softly.

“Hey, we can go slow, ok? We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. Don’t worry so much,” he said.

But Sherlock didn’t hear him. He was reading John’s inviting moist lips.

John was apparently waiting for a response so Sherlock nodded.

“Great!” the counsellor chirped, breaking the spell. “I’d like a follow-up appointment in a week, cover any problems you two are having and see how you’re settling in. What day is best for you?”

Sherlock didn’t care, he was already thinking of ways he could get out of it. John must have noticed his apathy because he made the appointment and even said, “I’ll make sure he’s there.”

John had, almost magically, made Sherlock feel safe and comfortable. When the appointment was over Sherlock felt a bit floaty. Once they were out of the building and Sherlock was trying not to giggle at John’s attempt to catch a cab Sherlock was still feeling good.

There was something about John Watson. He had originally assumed that Sherlock felt like he’d be forced to have sex with him. But, once Sherlock started talking again he figured it out. That Sherlock was afraid. Sherlock would have never admitted it to anyone and he was quite embarrassed about it. But John didn’t tease him.

_“We can go slow,”_ he’d said. And he wasn’t lying. John was a patient man, Sherlock had deduced it.

Sherlock wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep John if they engaged in a sexual relationship, John might get frustrated and hurt, and leave. But the fact that he’d seen Sherlock’s fear and soothed it gave Sherlock hope.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta [mariaWASD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariaWASD/pseuds/mariaWASD). I didn't take all the suggestions so any mistakes that are left are my own. :)

John was starting to get frustrated. None of the cabs were stopping for him. Sherlock raised his arm and the first cab came to the curb. John hadn’t even seen it, it was like it was conjured out of thin air.

The ride to the flat was quiet, Sherlock seemed to be thinking deeply and John didn’t want to be a bother. Aside from stealing glances at his new Dom, John left him be.

The flat was in a prime spot and John was worried about how much his share of the rent would be.

“The landlady,” Sherlock said out of the blue. After knocking (why didn’t he have keys?) he continued, “gives me a discount.” It caused John to wonder if he could somehow read minds.

Before he could say more, a kindly woman sub dressed all in purple opened the door and hugged Sherlock. John thought it was nice and at the same time hoped he’d be spared. The landlady, introduced as Mrs Hudson, just gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

She followed them up the stairs.

John thought the space was nice. It was certainly a big enough flat. It just looked smaller because of all the clutter. “How much would my share be?”

Sherlock was flitting around, throwing things in boxes and stabbing the post. “Hm? Oh, don’t worry about that.”

Frowning, John let Mrs Hudson lead him to the bathroom, which had a large claw foot tub and shower combo. She apologized for the mess as if it was somehow her job to keep up with the cleaning. They came back to the kitchen. She said the previous tenants were in the process of remodelling but only got the kitchen done. She promised to have a new fridge as soon as possible. John wanted to reassure her that it wasn’t necessary but he opened it and saw a human foot sitting on one of the shelves with nothing below it to catch the… ooze. It seemed to be growing mushrooms.

“Yes, that might be good,” John said, feeling a bit sick. He looked over at his Dom. How had he gotten a foot?

“I didn’t kill him,” Sherlock said, reading John’s mind again.

“I didn’t say you did,” John replied. He had met murderers before, and Sherlock wasn’t anything like them. Besides, John had good instincts. They said his Dom was a good person and John wasn’t going to disagree.

Somehow John’s response seemed to startle Sherlock.

They stared at each other for a moment before Sherlock cleared his throat and said, “The other bedroom is upstairs.”

“Surely you won’t be needing two bedrooms,” Mrs Hudson interjected.

John frowned. His leg hurt from going up the one flight of stairs, he didn’t want to think about going up another, especially after a long day. But Sherlock was already settled in the bedroom off the bath, John had seen his stuff through the ensuite door (and if they couldn’t work out a sexual relationship John was going to frost that glass). He really couldn’t ask him to move. Never mind the fact that he didn’t  _ want _ to ask Sherlock to move. He wanted to share his bed. It had been so long…

But, no. The man was a virgin and even if he wasn’t, John didn’t want to pressure him.

Mrs Hudson broke the awkward silence by declaring she was going to get tea, “Just this once, mind you. I’m not your housekeeper.”

John looked around the living room and took a seat in a worn red armchair. After adjusting the union jack pillow, he found it quite comfortable. He couldn’t complain about the view, either. Sherlock was standing against the windows, the light streamed in around the curtains and highlighted his slight frame.

God, John thought Sherlock could wrap his hands around his entire waist. The man was so skinny! The suit, which had been tailored within an inch of its life, probably hid some imperfections, but it was clear the man needed feeding up. That was John’s job now.

Not that he and Sherlock were really in a relationship.

Were they?

John didn’t know how to ask.

Some marriages were arranged as flatmates, some were colleagues, some were friends with benefits, some were romantic relationships... what were they?

“Um, Sherlock…”

\----

Sherlock could tell John wasn’t impressed by the flat when he first saw it. Sherlock looked at the space with a critical eye and realized just how big of a mess it was. Honestly, he thought his sub would have been looking into a divorce already. Sherlock wasn’t quite sure how the counselling appointment went so well. Not that it had, really, John almost dropped. But, he  _ deduced _ his sub. And instead of punching him in his nose John had been amazed.

He let Mrs Hudson lead John around and he tried to tidy a bit. He really wasn’t good at tidying and found himself throwing old newspapers back into the box he had taken them out of. He hoped John, if he decided to stick around, wouldn’t insist on a clutter-free flat. Trying to keep the space clean would be very trying for both of them.

Even when John saw the foot he didn’t go running. He didn’t accuse Sherlock of being a murderer either. He just decided that Mrs Hudson would indeed be getting a new fridge. Sherlock knew he’d be paying for that.

John had asked how much his share of the rent would be and Sherlock avoided answering. He didn’t know what to say. He already knew John couldn’t afford half. And it didn’t matter. Sherlock was already paying rent, the government declared that he had to spend time with John (and Sherlock found he was looking forward to it). It was just logical that John move in so they could meet the time requirement. Since Sherlock wasn’t going to change his habits because someone else was living there it didn’t make sense for John to pay. In fact, if Sherlock was paying for everything it meant John would be less likely to complain.

But, Sherlock could tell that John wasn’t going to let this go. Sherlock knew he had to come up with something, a figure that John could afford that didn’t seem outrageously low. It was slightly frustrating that John wasn’t one of those subs that expected his Dom to pay for everything. Now that Sherlock had a sub he had full access to his trust fund as long as he stayed clean.

Sherlock decided he’d go through John’s bills while he was moving to come up with a figure.

John took a seat in the chair that faced Sherlock’s. In the glances Sherlock stole he looked comfortable, like he belonged. It was like the flat was missing something. With John there, everything was complete.

Then the cane clattered to the floor. John cursed and Sherlock frowned. He’d almost forgotten about that. Now, how could he get rid of it? It would be easier for Sherlock to convince John to share his room when John had the cane but John’s lack of mobility was going to become a problem very quickly. Plus, John was in pain, and Sherlock couldn’t ignore that.

He’d gotten a case on his website, a suspicious accidental death. There were also those poisonings in the news… but the trail on those would be cold until there was another. It might be a waste of time to investigate an inebriated drowning but if it was murder, like Sherlock thought it was, it would be a great chance to show John what he did. Maybe he could hear John call him brilliant again.

“John,” Sherlock said, “I have a case I need to investigate.”

The sub looked crestfallen. Sherlock didn’t know what to make of it. Had he missed something John said while he was thinking?

Well, if it was important John would bring it up again.

Or, maybe he didn’t think he was invited?

“You’re a doctor, an army doctor…” Sherlock led.

John stood and nodded. “Yes.”

“Any good?”

“Very,” John’s voice was steady, deep. It very nearly made Sherlock abandon the case and lead John to the bedroom.

Sherlock mentally shook off thoughts of sex and said, “Want to come?” Well, that pun indicated he hadn’t been entirely successful.

“Er—”

John did, Sherlock could tell, but he was hesitating for some reason. Sherlock saw an edge to John’s thoughts. He’d recently been at risk of dropping. If the criminal were a Dom would John be able to handle it if they commanded John to kneel?

Sherlock realized he needed to assert his dominance. He needed to… solidify his claim on John. He needed to impress upon his sub that he only took orders from him.

After a deep breath, Sherlock said, “Or we could leave it for later and look at the bedrooms.”

John blinked at him in confusion before catching on. His pupils dilated and he nearly moaned, “Oh,  _ god _ , yes.”

\----

“What kind of relationship do you expect? I mean, you said you don’t want to have an open marriage. But are we going to share a room?” John asked.

Sherlock didn’t answer. It looked like he was thinking.

John didn’t want to force the issue or pressure the man, so he relaxed his posture in his chair and waited.

And waited.

“John,” Sherlock said.

John leaned forward, anxious to hear what Sherlock had to say after thinking so long.

“I have a case I need to investigate.”

What did that mean? Was he just blowing John off or did he need to think about it more? Did he mean to kick John out now that John had had a look around?  _ “Thanks for coming, come back when it’s convenient. I’m busy now that I’ve gotten all that wedding nonsense out of the way.” _

Sherlock frowned at John slightly before saying, “You’re a doctor, an army doctor…”

John didn’t see where Sherlock was going with this. They’d already established John’s history at the appointment. “Yes.”

With a slight smile, Sherlock asked John if he was any good.

“Very.” John wasn’t given to false modesty. He was a damn fine doctor. He’d saved more patients than he’d lost, a feat that most of the field doctors, his colleagues, hadn’t accomplished.

Sherlock seemed pleased and asked John if he wanted to come.

“Er—” John hedged. Was he imagining the innuendo? Probably. Would he want to go on a case? Yes, definitely. But he wouldn’t be able to keep up. And what if there was a lot of standing around? John’s leg hurt worst when he was standing idly for long periods.

Sherlock looked at John from under his lashes and his voice became impossibly deeper, “Or we could leave it for later and look at the bedrooms.”

Oh. “Oh,  _ god, _ yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I don’t know how deep you all want me to go down this rabbit hole comment with ideas for the next chapters. The rest of this story will be smut with the predictable plot ending. ;)


	8. First Time - The Blowjob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta [mariaWASD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariaWASD/pseuds/mariaWASD). I changed things as per the suggestions and didn't have another go through so any mistakes are my own.

Sherlock didn’t have a plan, but he was good at coming up with one in the moment. He didn’t have a play room, he hardly had any toys at all. He supposed he could take John out and get a basic set, at the very least... But, John was standing now, licking his lips and blushing. Sherlock could see how turned on he was. Which was nice, however, the important thing was that the cane was abandoned. If Sherlock suggested they go out it would break the mood and John would look for the aide.

So, he wouldn’t break the mood.

John was looking at him, staring. His pupils were dilated and Sherlock realized John was waiting for a command. Well, of course, he was! John was a sub. A sub wasn’t going to lead a sexual encounter. At least, a sub that had been abandoned wasn’t.

“Ah…” Sherlock needed to say something, to do something. John was waiting for him. John depended on him. This sub, this person he’d only met today, was his responsibility, _his_ sub.

John’s tongue peeked out to moisten his lips and when Sherlock still didn’t say anything John’s face started to fall. He was thinking that Sherlock was having second thoughts about him. That Sherlock didn’t want him. As if he was somehow not desirable.

Sherlock cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. He’d seen porn and people did this every day. Normal, stupid people. It shouldn’t be difficult.

 **“Follow me,”** he said, modulating his command to just a one. He strode out of the room to the bedroom.

A discrete peak behind him showed that John swayed but recovered quickly and followed easily.

Sherlock shut the door behind John and turned to look at him. John was fidgeting nervously and his eyes flickered between Sherlock and the items in his room.

Compared to the rest of the flat, Sherlock’s room was tidy. He didn’t keep experiments here and there was none of the case related clutter. Sherlock only spent time in the room to dress and sleep (and the latter could just as easily happen on the couch).

John was beautiful and Sherlock wanted to unwrap him. He wanted to carefully peel each item of clothing away from John’s body and touch the exposed skin. He wanted to explore each freckle and scar. He wanted to _taste_ …

But if he did that John might become self-conscious and the pain in his leg might come back.

 **“Strip,”** Sherlock commanded and instead of staring like he wanted to, he busied himself doing the same.

When he glanced over and realized John had no such compunctions regarding watching him disrobe, Sherlock started putting on a show. Nothing overt, he just told his body to slow down and move more fluidly.

Therefore, John was naked sooner than Sherlock was. It wasn’t bad for Sherlock’s plan, John was thoroughly distracted. The problem was that Sherlock was starting to get self-conscious. He knew he wasn’t traditionally attractive, his features a little too sharp and alien for most people. Those who were able to look past that lost interest at his caustic personality.

Despite Sherlock’s intentions, John’s attention became too much to bear. **“Go fetch my scarf,”** he said to give himself a moment.

When John hesitated, torn between following the order and wanting to protest but being unable to, Sherlock said, “Don’t worry about the landlady, she knows better than to disturb us.” He knew John’s worry, that he’d get caught naked would dominate his thoughts and he wouldn’t think about his leg at all.

John hurried out of the room and Sherlock removed the last of his clothing. He stood in his room and wondered how he should be standing when John came back. Should he just wait like this? Sit on the bed so he wasn’t towering over John? Lie down and look relaxed?

Probably the last, Sherlock decided. He pulled the comforter off and left it in a pile on the floor. He stretched his body over the sheets and realized he didn’t know how he should pose. Should he be on his back? No, John would want him looking at him, wouldn’t he?

Sherlock rolled onto his side and decided to rest on his elbow, hand supporting his head. Now, where should his other hand go? He’d seen pictures of people with their leg bent up to expose their genitals. Was that too forward? He took the pose (he was seducing John, after all), but he angled his arm to cover his penis. It was best to be coy, he felt more comfortable and it’d be reasonable, him being a virgin and all. He didn’t cup his hand, he just let it rest on the sheets naturally. He didn’t want John to know he was nervous. He was a Dom, he needed to fill that role properly.

He knew he’d made the right decision when John came back, scarf in hand. John stopped, staring with his mouth open.

 **“Come here,”** Sherlock said as he swayed his knee back and forth, implying his legs would spread but still keeping the bit John was trying not to stare at covered.

“You’re… wow,” John said quietly. He didn’t even seem to notice he was walking forward.

Sherlock reached out, exposing himself, and ran his hand down one of John’s arms. It was muscular despite the rest he’d taken to heal. The scar on his shoulder was still red and angry and it was easy to deduce how much trouble John had had in physical therapy. Sherlock looked away from the mark and pulled John’s arm forward, admiring the tan line around his wrist.

John tensed and Sherlock decided that his exploration would have to wait. He’d expected John’s wariness, it’s why he needed the scarf.

 **“Restrain me,”** he said and rolled onto his back. He lifted his arms up and stretched them over his head directly below the hook on the wall.

John made a small involuntary noise in the back of his throat and took one of Sherlock’s wrists in his hand. He tied a knot around it with the end of the scarf. It wasn’t one of the normal bondage knots, the ones where you could pull an end and slip free.

Sherlock didn’t know if John just didn’t know how to tie such a knot or if he needed the reassurance that Sherlock wasn’t going to molest him. Normally he’d be able to deduce it but sentiment (and lust) was messing with his deductions.

John looped the scarf over the hook and pulled, indicating that Sherlock needed to scoot up the bed. Sherlock did and John tied his other wrist. When he was done, he checked to make sure the knots weren’t resting anywhere they’d do damage and that the bonds weren’t too tight.

“Okay?” he asked.

Sherlock tugged, testing his range of movement as arousal pooled in his groin. The angle he had to maintain was slightly uncomfortable, he wouldn’t be able to ignore it. His head fell back and his back arched as he gave in and moaned. He felt his legs splay wantonly.

He’d never actually been restrained before, although he’d imagined it plenty of times. It was better than his fantasies.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” John said, sounding rather smug.

“John,” Sherlock gasped as he moved his legs back and forth against the cool sheets. **“Touch me.”**

Instead of wrapping his hand around Sherlock’s cock, like Sherlock expected— _needed_ —his fingers dragged over Sherlock’s ribs and ran up and down his torso, exploring. Fingers became hands, palms warm and slightly rough. They weren’t massaging, John was just maximising skin contact.

Sherlock relaxed and revelled in the sensation of his sub touching him. John’s movements were near worshipful as they avoided the obvious erogenous zones and dragged across Sherlock’s arms after he was done with the torso.

John, finished with Sherlock’s top half, nudged at Sherlock’s legs, directing Sherlock until he closed them. Then he climbed up and straddled Sherlock’s thighs. Too low to provide any stimulation to Sherlock’s cock but high enough that the pressure wasn’t uncomfortable.

Sherlock knew at any point he could command John to touch his penis, to tease it, to expose his glans, to make a fist and move his hand up and down, to take it in his mouth and work it with his tongue until Sherlock came down his throat. The fact that he didn’t, that he let John move slowly, was killing him in the best way.

Thumbs brushed Sherlock’s nipples and Sherlock moaned. He hadn’t been expecting the move. Somehow his eyes had closed. He opened them and saw his sub towering over him, tongue peeking out and pupils blown.

“God, John.” Sherlock writhed as John started pinching and pulling, making them hard. **“Lick them,”** he ordered.

It was like John had been waiting for the command. Like he’d been holding himself in check until he was allowed to go further.

That was exactly it, Sherlock realized as he received a tentative lick. John was a sub, he wanted to please his Dom and he was unfamiliar with Sherlock. He needed direction until he acclimated.

John bit down and Sherlock yelped.

“Cheeky,” Sherlock said with a smirk. It seemed like John was more comfortable than Sherlock thought.

John smirked at him and repeated the treatment on Sherlock’s other nipple.

It took only seconds for Sherlock to lose his patience. “Cock! Touch my cock,” he said without using any command. This was going further, he wanted John to be able to protest.

“Finally,” John gasped. He slid off to the side before spreading Sherlock’s legs and climbing back and settling between them.

His first touches were tentative, Sherlock would think them teasing but the expression on John’s face told him otherwise. John was nervous, or perhaps just cautious.

“I’m not going to break. **Touch me!”**

With a whimper John wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s cock and started moving it up and down, the grip strong and tight.

Sherlock hissed. It felt good, but it was too much. He needed lube if this was going to continue as long as he wanted it to.

 **“Lube, bed stand drawer.”** He stored it there with his dildos.

John released Sherlock’s penis and Sherlock didn’t think he imagined John’s reluctance to do so. John bent forward on his hands and knees, his breath hot as his mouth hovered over Sherlock’s cock. Before Sherlock could get any ideas John shimmied backwards and slid off the foot of the bed. He practically ran to the nightstand and opened it with more force than necessary. He rummaged a bit before raising his prize. He uncapped it and turned it over in his hand.

“It’s empty,” John said, aghast.

“Fuck,” Sherlock swore. He hadn’t even noticed that he was low last time he masturbated. He didn’t have a backup tube.

But, he knew Mrs Hudson did.

**“Get me down. Unhook me.”**

John unceremoniously dropped the empty bottle and hastened to obey.

Sherlock had intended to give John the sheet and wrap him up, to tell him to run down and get Mrs Hudson’s sealed back up bottle. To use the stairs to help John with his leg. But John was leaning over Sherlock, and his hard cock bouncing in his face.

As soon as he could lower his arms he grabbed John’s hips and swallowed him down.

It was too deep, too fast. Sherlock had long since trained himself out of his gag reflex but this was still a large object—a little over twenty centimetres and with enough girth to stretch Sherlock’s jaw uncomfortably—and he’d acted impulsively, without thought to his positioning or breathing.

“Jesus Christ!” John said and stumbled backwards at the unexpected assault.

Sherlock didn’t let go. He slid off the bed and heard the loud thud of his knees hitting the hard wooden floor. Distantly he thought he’d regret that, but he was more concerned with holding John in place. The scarf was long enough that it didn’t prevent Sherlock from taking each of John’s buttocks in his hands. He squeezed, careful not to pull them apart, and worked his mouth around and down John’s prick until his nose rested in John’s golden pubic hair.

“Oh, oh fuck!” John swayed but Sherlock held him in place.

Sherlock slid off a bit and looked up, wanting to make sure he wasn’t crossing a line.

\----

John was staring down, his mouth open to try to get more oxygen. This could not be happening. His Dom was giving him a blowjob without John having to earn it somehow.

Then Sherlock looked up and met John’s eyes.

His lips were pink, moist cupid’s bow a sharp contrast against his pale milky skin, even with the flush across his cheeks. The root of John’s cock shined with saliva.

“Sher— Oh, Christ!” John had to look away. It was obscene.

Sherlock pulled off just long enough to command, **“Look at me.”** Then he _attacked_ John’s cock. The suction, the depth, how he still managed to work his tongue… It was the best blowjob of John’s life.

“Oh, oh! Oh— Nnguh!” John said, panting now, trying to resist burying his hands in Sherlock’s hair and thrusting until he came down that long, elegant, pale, fucking impossible throat. He kept his eyes wide open even when Sherlock closed his and moaned around John’s cock.

The vibrations made John harder, a feat that he hadn’t thought possible. He lost control and thrust forward, his hand around the back of Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock pulled off without meeting any resistance—John’s hand wasn’t there to restrict, only guide—and glared at John. **“Parade rest, eyes on me.”**

John whined, a high-pitched sound, and assumed the position. Sherlock’s commands were growing stronger, he was losing control and John was barely clinging to sanity himself.

“Please, please, Sherlock…” John begged when Sherlock started dragging his tongue along the vein on the bottom of his prick. Sherlock wasn’t holding John’s cock and it bounced around with every light lick. It struck John that Sherlock was a virgin, he didn’t know what he was doing. John thought Sherlock was far too good at that to have never done it before. But he clearly hadn’t and the fact that John was his first, the first cock to ever touch those perfect lips…

“Goooooooood…” John moaned. “Please, Sherlock. Take me in your hand, use your mouth, let me come, _please_.”

Sherlock looked up. If he was mad that John had given him instructions he didn’t give any indication. He wrapped his large hand around John’s cock and worked it while saying, **“Come as soon as you can.”**

“Nn!” The nasally noise was involuntary and the only response John was capable of when Sherlock wrapped his lips around John’s glans.

He licked John’s slit.

“Aaah! Sher—! I’m--! Nnguh!” John came, the effort of keeping still made his whole body shake and he was grateful for Sherlock’s hand on his hip as his knees went weak.

 **“Sit on the bed,”** Sherlock said, his command modulated once more. He helped guide John without moving from his knees. The sensation of the scarf dragging along John’s skin with every movement registered once more. John realized Sherlock had just given him a blow job while restrained and it made his cock twitch, a spasm that only brought a drop of fluid out.

When the back of his knees hit the bed John sat, then fell onto his back. He was soaked in sweat (when had that happened?) and his skin felt overheated.

“Christ,” he said as he covered his eyes with his forearm. If he looked at Sherlock right now he would combust.

Once he had calmed down a bit he removed his arm but kept his eyes on the ceiling. “That was amazing. That was the best blow job of my entire life. You’re brilliant.”

Sherlock grunted in response and John realized his Dom had just come. He must have been desperate to wank instead of wait for John to be able to finish him.

John felt Sherlock’s forehead fall against his thigh. The dark curls tickled his leg. John wiggled so he could reach down and tangle his fingers in that sexy hair. He ran his nails gently across Sherlock’s scalp, back and forth, like he was petting him.

Sherlock didn’t seem offended. Whenever John started to slow Sherlock moved his head to encourage John to continue. John didn’t stop when Sherlock turned, resting his back against the bed.

John only paused when he heard a sound. Sherlock didn’t move to make him continue so John started to pull his hand away when he heard it again.

A sniffle.

John went tense as he waited and there it was once more. He raised his head and saw Sherlock curl forward into himself.

Oh, god, Sherlock was dropping. John had never had a Dom drop on him. _Never._ He knew what he was supposed to do theoretically, he’d been through all the sex ed classes in school and med school and the refresher with the counsellor, but now that it was time to put that knowledge into action he was frozen.

\----

Sherlock watched John flop onto the bed. His eyes raked over John’s glistening body, flushed and slightly twitching, his cock spent and slightly moist and Sherlock was struck by the realization that he had done this. He’d brought John pleasure.

John’s ring, Sherlock’s physical claim, caught the light and Sherlock's need became too much. He bent forward onto his knees, wrapping a hand around his own cock and stroking it roughly. He chased orgasm, uncaring that he might chafe himself. The scarf tugged at his wrists with each movement, reminding him he was still bound. He bit his lip, he’d never been this hard in his life.

But he couldn’t come. He was, somehow, too aroused. It was painful.

“That was amazing. That was the best blow job of my entire life. You’re brilliant,” John said breathily.

John had just complimented him. _Praised_ him. His sub thought he’d done well. He’d brought his sub, his John, more pleasure than anyone before.

Sherlock came so hard he saw stars. He grunted as he worked himself through it. The relief was palatable, he could _taste_ it. He fell forward against John’s leg. He needed to feel him. To smell him. To be connected to him.

John started running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. It was the first time anyone had ever touched him like this. Gently, like they cared. Like they wanted to bring him pleasure.

He shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the hooks on the wall and whatnot, this is a kinky universe. I imagine all sorts of things would be normal fixtures in master bedrooms. 
> 
> If you like this version of the D/s world and want to write in it link me or put me in an inspired by. I would be honoured. Also, if you are just inspired by a line and write or draw something, even if it seems completely unrelated, I want to see it. Drop me a link in the comments so I can revel in your awesomeness. 
> 
> Last note: I am stuck on chapter nine. Give me things you want to see--as kinky, fluffy or angsty as you can dream up--to help me break through this block.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the drop and aftercare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of self-harm and mental anguish.
> 
> Once more I thank my beta [mariaWASD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariaWASD/pseuds/mariaWASD). I changed things around after so any mistakes are my own.

Sherlock shook his head back and forth, trying to clear the thoughts and hold his chest together. John was still moving his fingers and Sherlock wanted to lean into the touch and shy away from it at the same time. He wanted the affection but it was causing the darkness to descend faster. He blinked rapidly when the moisture gathered in his eyes. It still threatened to fall so Sherlock turned, sitting with his back against the bed. If tears actually fell he didn’t want John to know. Sherlock was a Dom. He was the strong one. He needed to care for John. He needed to stop this useless snivelling and care for his sub.

John’s hand stopped but Sherlock’s mind didn’t. Sherlock’s thoughts spiralled.

He could taste his sub’s come. It coated his mouth, sticking to his tongue, his teeth, the roof of his mouth. He licked his lips, trying to distract himself and trying to hold the moisture in his nose in. A fresh wave of John’s salty bitter semen made Sherlock’s mouth water. He’d just sucked his sub off and not only allowed his sub to come in his mouth, he had swallowed. It wasn’t normal.

The scarf rubbed against his skin as he wrapped his arms around himself.

God, he had allowed his sub to restrain him. He had  _ enjoyed  _ it. They hadn’t discussed the scene, Sherlock couldn’t write this off as a negation. No, this had been entirely spontaneous.

He really was a freak.

John must have come to the realization too. He had stopped touching Sherlock. John had been nice to him, maybe even liked him, a bit. And now that the heat of the moment was over John was realizing that not only was Sherlock’s personality abnormal (he’d seen the fridge) but he couldn’t even have sex properly.

A sob escaped and Sherlock covered his mouth with both hands.

He should be taking care of his sub. He’d ruined everything. John was going to go out and file for divorce, maybe even finding another Dom to take care of him in the meantime. A better Dom. A normal Dom. A Dom that didn’t have a break down over nothing.

Sherlock didn’t blame John. He was useless. He was defective. The proof was there, still wrapped around his wrists. John hadn’t tied normal bondage knots because he was worried that Sherlock was a man or because he’d had a bad experience. No, he’d tied those knots because being asked to be restrained meant that Sherlock was a deviant.

The scarf sat there, damp with his sweat, totally innocuous while it marked him as a degenerate. He tried to slide it off but the fabric hadn’t stretched enough. He dug his fingers into the knots, hurting his nails as he tried to loosen the binds. But the knots had been pulled tight, and with the moisture they weren’t going to come off without extensive effort.

He clawed at them nonetheless. His breathing picked up and he felt panicked. He used his teeth and then tried to tear the fabric around his left wrist with his mouth and his right hand.

It didn’t work.

Nothing worked.

He needed them off now. Before John saw them again. If he had more moisture the fabric would stretch and he could get them off. His mouth was dry and he’d never get enough moisture from it before John stood.

_ Freak, freak, freak. _

They were right, they were all right. More right than they knew.

Making his hands into claws he scratched at the skin at his wrists and the top parts of his hands. His nails were dull and short but he managed to open the skin. Blood wasn’t flowing, just coming to the surface. Sherlock went to scratch over the wounds, to deepen them, to get the blood he needed to get the bloody scarf  _ off _ .

“Stop! Sherlock, stop it!” John was shouting. He took Sherlock’s hand away from his wrist and pulled on it.

Sherlock struggled. John was there. John could see. John was upset.

_ Freak! _

**“Sherlock, stop, now!”**

The command took Sherlock by surprise and he blinked up at his sub through his tears.

\----

Even John’s breathing had stopped. What had happened? Things had gone so well. How had he failed his Dom? John racked his brain, knowing that if he found the issue it’d be easier to solve. The man had been a virgin, had John taken advantage? They hadn’t planned anything out, confirmed safe words, discussed  _ anything _ . What the hell had John been thinking?! Sherlock hadn’t even wanted to have sex at the counsellor’s. Had he only done all this because he thought John had wanted to?

A wet sob snapped John back.

He jumped to his feet. He’d deal with the fact that he’d been a complete failure later. Right now he needed to take care of his Dom. The first step was showing affection. John tried rubbing Sherlock’s scalp and back. He didn’t want to make Sherlock claustrophobic, so he didn’t cuddle or hug Sherlock.

But Sherlock didn’t even seem to register that John was there.

When he started pulling at the scarf, John figured Sherlock was feeling trapped and the scarf was causing him distress. Those knots weren’t going to come undone without ages of prying with some sort of tool though, and it didn’t look like John had enough time to do it that way.

Sherlock took the scarf into his mouth, trying to work the knots with his teeth.

“Hold on, I’ll be right back, ok?” John patted Sherlock’s shoulder but it still didn’t look like Sherlock knew he was there. “Just hold on.”

He ran to the living room. He didn’t want to get a knife, with Sherlock panicking either one of them could be cut. He needed scissors. He really needed bondage scissors but he didn’t know if Sherlock had any. John raked his eyes over the desk, desperate for anything. He could hear Sherlock’s distressed sobs and grunts all the way out here.

He knocked things over and pulled open drawers, cursing when his search turned up nothing. John put his hands on his head and took a deep breath. His panic wasn’t helping. He was a soldier. He was a doctor. He could keep calm in a crisis.

Then he saw the scissors.

They were large, rusty metal things. Possibly some sort of antiques, with what looked like blood on them. John lunged for them and tested the sharpness. It wouldn’t help to return with something so dull it couldn’t cut through the fabric.

The blade sliced through the top layer of his skin, not even as deep as a papercut, but surprisingly sharp. More than adequate.

John sprinted back to the room in time to see Sherlock seemingly trying to claw his hands off at the wrists.

“Stop! Sherlock, stop it!” John shouted. He shouldn't have left. Fuck, that was fucking rule number one. Never leave a person in a drop alone. He should have known better. He did know better.

He was a fucking idiot.

Sherlock struggled and his breathing picked up. John was making it worse. But to get the scarf off he needed Sherlock to hold still.

**“Sherlock, stop, now!”**

The command took Sherlock by surprise and he blinked up at his sub through his tears. John nodded and sliced through the fabric. It was hard to cut because of the sweat, saliva, and—oh, dear god—blood, but John was still able to get through before Sherlock came back to his senses.

John held onto the wrist as he knelt but let the fabric and scissors fall. He winced at the scratches and made sure Sherlock was looking at him as he kissed above them.

“Hey, it’s ok,” John said and kissed Sherlock’s knuckles one by one, starting with the thumb.

Sherlock’s breathing evened out and John felt safe moving on to the other wrist. He sliced through this binding faster, the only moisture being from Sherlock’s sweat.

He threw the scarf out of sight and set the scissors out of Sherlock’s reach.

“It’s ok,” he said again.

Sherlock blinked rapidly, he seemed to be coming back to himself. He tried to pull away but John held firm, taking Sherlock by the shoulders and moving into his lap. John nestled his head against Sherlock’s chest under his chin and just held him.

This is what he was supposed to do. Show Sherlock that he wasn’t alone and be submissive and affectionate.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s middle and slid them down when Sherlock leaned back and relaxed against the bed. When Sherlock wrapped his own arms around John, John tipped his head back and kissed the hollow of Sherlock’s throat.

“Thank you,” John said.

Sherlock threw back his head and laughed once, a hollow broken sound. His head came back, though, and he rubbed his jaw over the top of John’s head.

“I mean it.” John wanted to tell Sherlock that it was all his fault. That if he’d intervened sooner they could have avoided the worst of the drop, that he felt horrible for pressuring Sherlock in the first place, that he was a horrible sub.

But none of that would help.

“The sex was amazing.” Compliments, telling Sherlock that he’d done well, reinforcing that Sherlock had taken good care of his sub was what was needed now. “God, I can’t believe you were a virgin. You were absolutely brilliant.”

Sherlock stiffened.

Damn, he shouldn’t have mentioned the virgin thing. John turned his head and kissed higher on Sherlock’s neck before running his nose along the underside of Sherlock’s jaw. It didn’t relax his Dom like he’d wanted.

He licked his lips. He’d been hoping that it wouldn’t come to the next bit. He didn’t want to affirm himself as Sherlock’s sub when Sherlock was just going to throw him out. The sex hadn’t been non-consensual, but without the safe words or any discussion beforehand, with the restraints and all, consent was definitely dubious.

John buried his selfishness. If Sherlock threw him out and divorced him then so be it. If John withheld aftercare he’d deserve it.

He moved away so he could see, causing Sherlock to sit up with him, trying to prolong their contact. John found and took Sherlock’s hand and placed it on the back of his neck, where a collar would be. A place that only a sub’s Dom could touch. When Sherlock didn’t wrap his hand around John prodded his hand until he did.

The effect was immediate. John relaxed against Sherlock and Sherlock fell back, his hand tightening enough to be possessive but not anywhere near tight enough to cause pain. He pulled John into him, wrapping his arm around John securely and even bringing his legs up to shelter John more. Sherlock’s chin dug into John's head.

It all should have been suffocating. John didn’t know this Dom. Sure, he wore his ring but he didn’t wear his collar. They’d known each other for only a few hours. They hadn’t even had a proper conversation. But John found himself relaxing, enjoying Sherlock’s warmth and feeling safe. He’d never felt like this with anyone else. Even when James held him like this John hadn’t even been able to let go. There’d always been a stiffness in his spine.

Now, John’s eyes were closing. His breathing was evening out. Tension he didn’t even know he had was leaving his body. He felt completely at ease.

The broken feeling, the aching despondency he’d had in his chest since he’d been invalided out was gone, replaced with warmth. The fractured part of his brain was repaired.

He hadn’t ever felt this before but he knew what it was. He’d accepted Sherlock as his Dom. His only Dom. He might as well be collared. And this wasn’t like being collared by the military. He wasn’t part of an organization, he couldn’t pick and choose which Dom to follow based on rank. He didn’t have the protection of taking orders from multiple Doms and accepting them. He was tied to Sherlock and Sherlock alone.

Anxiety spiked. He didn’t know Sherlock. He didn’t know his place in their relationship, he didn’t know if Sherlock even wanted him. He didn’t know if Sherlock would be cruel, abusive, neglectful. He didn’t know anything.

Except he did. He knew that Sherlock was generous and attentive in bed. That he was odd, different, but that wasn’t a bad thing. John was odd too. Sherlock was smart, observant, willing to do things to make him happy.

The anxiety was replaced with guilt. Sherlock was all those things and John had taken advantage.

Sherlock must have sensed John’s agitation because he held him tighter.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said.

John felt the deep rumbling words through his chest more than he heard them. Somehow, he was surprised at how deep Sherlock’s voice was. He wondered if he’d get a chance to get used to it.

He hoped so.

\----

Sherlock held John gingerly as he settled in his lap. He could feel how damp his own cheeks were. His mouth was dry, his nose stuffed up, his wrist ached where he’d bled. The skin that wasn’t touching John felt cold and clammy, the bits that were were almost uncomfortably warm and he could feel himself sweat.

“Thank you,” John said.

“Ha!” Sherlock hated the sound that had come out. He’d wanted to scoff, to start to distance himself from John now before John left so it wouldn’t hurt as bad. But instead, he’d sounded damaged.

John pressed himself against Sherlock at the sound and Sherlock couldn’t help nuzzling him.

“I mean it,” John said. “The sex was amazing. God, I can’t believe you were a virgin. You were absolutely brilliant.”

The praise again. Sherlock tried to dismiss it but he couldn’t help but soak it in.

Then John kissed him and nosed around his throat.

He swallowed thickly. John was just taking care of him because of the drop. John didn’t really mean any of it.

His chest ached when John pulled away. He hadn’t wanted to be right, he’d hoped that John cared, despite knowing better.

But John surprised him by taking his hand and placing it on the back of his neck. Lower than where Sherlock had placed it in the counsellor’s office.

Right where a collar would be.

Sherlock froze. John couldn’t mean it. It was an accident.

But John was nudging and prodding him and Sherlock took John’s neck while holding his breath.

John went limp, pushing into him so Sherlock fell back against the bed.

Sherlock’s breathing resumed, short nervous breaths, only deep enough so he wouldn’t pass out. He couldn’t disturb John. His sub was affirming their bond, his place in Sherlock’s life. Sherlock knew one wrong move now could send John running.

A gust of air cooled Sherlock’s skin. John had just exhaled.

It wasn’t a trick, it was real. John was taking comfort. The drop had affected him too. He needed this and he trusted Sherlock.

Sherlock remembered how small and broken John had looked at their wedding. If John wasn’t lying, if John had actually liked the sex, had actually liked Sherlock, had accepted him as a Dom… Sherlock blinked rapidly and slowly curled himself around John, tightening his grip on John’s neck. Claiming him, sheltering him, soothing him. Providing the care that John needed after being abandoned.

As John relaxed, so did Sherlock. And Sherlock realized he needed this too. Not because he’d dropped. No, it was as if a fundamental part of him was being stroked. That a bit he’d ignored, that he didn’t think he had, the part of a Dom that needed physical contact with his sub, that needed to claim, to protect, to own—to do more than just give orders—was soothed.

There was some cue Sherlock picked up on—it was some small movement of John’s, an exhalation, a twitch maybe—something Sherlock, in his relaxed state, couldn’t quite place made him feel complete for the first time in his life.

As if John could tell that Sherlock had just claimed John as his sub, had just mentally collared him, he stiffened. Sherlock held his breath again, would John pull away? 

He didn’t, just dropped his head and Sherlock could feel John’s eyelashes move against his chest as he blinked.

Sherlock didn’t know if John had felt it too, if he would ever accept Sherlock as his Dom, if he would stand up and leave in two minutes, never to return. It made Sherlock hold him tighter at the thought. If this was all Sherlock got, an awkward wedding, a strange appointment, sex and this feeling for a few minutes, it would be fine. It would be worth the pain when John left to have felt accepted, worthy and desired, if only for a minute. He hadn’t known that he’d needed this. That it was even possible for him to feel it at all.

“Thank you,” he said.

In response, John rubbed his head against Sherlock. Tension leaked out of them both and then John let out a little snore. Sherlock was sore, the floor was hard, the bed frame was digging into his back and John wasn’t exactly light. He wasn’t going to move, though. He’d never move again if it meant he get to keep John.

Sherlock’s own breathing evened out. His eyelids grew heavy and he tried to stay awake. He wanted to enjoy this as long as possible. If he fell asleep now, he’d miss part of this and John might be gone when he woke.

But he was exhausted and his eyes were dry and scratchy from crying. And he could still enjoy John’s warmth with his eyes closed. Hell, it might even be better.

Just for a minute, Sherlock told himself. Then he closed his eyes and cuddled John close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dom drop is a real thing. It’s not as well known, there is surprisingly little information on it because it’s rarely severe and Doms are supposed to be the strong ones so they don’t talk about it, but aftercare for a Dom is as important as it is for a sub.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas: [mariaWASD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariaWASD/pseuds/mariaWASD) and [Couldbeamidget](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Couldbeamidget/pseuds/Couldbeamidget) without whom this would be a huge mess. <3

John’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t know where he was, but it only took him a second to remember Sherlock. He pursed his lips. Sherlock was motionless, except for taking deep, even breaths. He was fast asleep. With the last remnants of slumber vanishing, John could feel that something in the flat had changed. His instincts told him there was a threat nearby and he trusted them. He didn’t want to go investigate because he didn’t want to be gone when Sherlock woke up. Plus, there was the slight problem of his being naked.

“Sherlock?”

The voice came from the living room and John could tell it wasn’t the landlady’s. Was it a sub? Did Sherlock have a sub? The man was a virgin, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a platonic sub. Was John getting in the way?

“Sherlock!”

That was demanding. It wasn’t a call a normal sub would make. 

As footsteps sounded down the hall, John carefully shook Sherlock’s arms off and reached for the scissors. He held them tightly and moved so he was protecting his and Sherlock’s modesty, but could still get up quickly in case this Dom was hostile.

“Oi, Sher—” The man stopped in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth open. “Oh.”

“Who are you and what do you want?” John asked. His Dom was vulnerable and he didn’t know if Sherlock was fully recovered from the drop. He wasn’t about to let another person, especially a Dom, take advantage.

“Uh… I’m sorry, who are you?”

John wasn’t going to let this man take control of this situation.  **“Who are you?”** he asked with as much command as he could muster. It was more than he’d ever used before and though it surprised him he tried not to let it show.

It certainly threw the other Dom off. He answered, “Greg. Greg Lestrade. I work for the police,” as if he were bowing to a more dominant Dom.

**“What do you want?”** John growled. This man Greg wasn’t in uniform, so he was either off duty or a detective. Either way, John didn’t see what he wanted with Sherlock. Sherlock had said he sometimes consulted, but that didn’t explain why the doorbell hadn’t rung. The man had entered the flat as if he owned the place.

“I’m here for Sherlock.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock said, his deep voice resonating from behind John, his breath tickling John’s ear. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

That seemed to snap Greg out of it. He blushed and pointedly looked away.

“Go away,” Sherlock said.

It surprised John that he didn’t use any command. John twisted to look at Sherlock. Besides the tear tracks and puffy eyes, there weren't any signs on his face that he was distressed. It looked like the drop was over and that Sherlock was fine now.

When Sherlock possessively snaked his arm around John, John couldn’t help but blush himself. The gesture made him happy and with the hand that wasn’t holding scissors he squeezed Sherlock’s knee.

“I need you,” Greg said, a pleading note to his voice.

“Busy,” Sherlock reiterated. “Get out.”

“But—”

**“Out! Get out of my flat!”** Sherlock snarled with what had to be a ten.

John found himself trying to stand, but he was held in place.

**“Not you, John,”** Sherlock said, command moderated back to something around a three. It was just enough to break through the haze created by the strength of his previous command, but not so much to overwhelm him.

Greg, on the other hand, spun on his heel and marched out. John could hear his footsteps move through the flat and down the stairs.

John relaxed back into Sherlock and let the man curl greedily around him. John would have appreciated the gesture, but Sherlock was rather bony and he was starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Sherlock—” John started but Sherlock hushed him.

Instead of saying anything, Sherlock latched onto John’s neck and started biting and sucking a claiming mark in the middle of it.

John wanted to be upset. They hadn’t talked and he wasn’t sure of his place in Sherlock’s life. Was he claiming John because another Dom had come into the flat? After the drop, Sherlock might still be a bit out of it. John had submitted fully to calm him and so Sherlock could be reacting entirely on instinct. John didn’t want to have a giant hickey for days, constantly reminding him of Sherlock if he was just going to throw him out. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny that it felt nice.

\----

A command woke Sherlock. It took him a second to realize he wasn’t in a rehab facility, that he was sitting upright and the weight on him wasn’t restraining.

“I’m here for Sherlock,” Lestrade said. He was eyeing John suspiciously.

Sherlock didn’t like it. Lestrade wasn’t coveting John, but it was only a matter of time. He needed to get the DI out and affirm his claim on his sub.

“Obviously,” Sherlock said. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Lestrade blushed and pointedly looked away. Somehow, he hadn't realized that he’d interrupted a rather intimate scene.

Idiot.

“Go away,” Sherlock said.

John turned and looked at Sherlock. His eyes lingered on Sherlock’s cheek, where a tear track was sure to be. His expression softened; not into pity, but more like… fondness.

Sherlock snaked his arm around John possessively. John turned back to Lestrade, squeezing Sherlock’s knee and Sherlock felt himself briefly smile.

“I need you,” Greg pleaded.

“Busy. Get out.” It was time to focus on John. He hadn’t expected the sub to still be here. He’d fallen asleep. He’d thought that John would have left as soon as he had a chance. It was a good sign that he hadn't.

“But—” Greg started.

**“Out! Get out of my flat!”** Sherlock snarled with all of his command.

John wiggled, trying to stand too.

**“Not you, John,”** he commanded lightly. John relaxed back against Sherlock’s chest and let himself be pulled closer.

“Sherlock—” John tried but Sherlock hushed him.

The threat, Lestrade, was gone. Sherlock latched onto John’s neck and started sucking a claiming mark in the middle of it. John was  _ his. _

John’s neck was thick, muscular and tan, his skin salty and when Sherlock bit down. He had to hold in a groan.

\----

“Sherlock.” John wiggled, but Sherlock held him tighter. “What is this?”

That seemed to get Sherlock’s attention. His lips left John’s neck and his limbs loosened. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

John slid off Sherlock’s lap and turned so he could look Sherlock in the eyes. His expression wasn’t comforting. He looked cold and closed off.

Still, this couldn’t wait. John licked his lips and said, “I took advantage of you. I still don’t know what you want from this marriage. With such a bad drop, I understand if you just want to be friends.”

“Is that what you want?”

No. John didn’t want to pressure Sherlock. He was tempted to say yes, but what if Sherlock took offence? He could ruin this relationship before it even began. Besides, if there was even a slight chance he could get another blow job, he wasn’t going to miss it.

“I don’t want to take advantage. If you don’t want to have sex again it’s fine.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed.

After a long moment he asked, “Why do you think you took advantage? I was the one who initiated it.”

“Yeah, but I’m the one with experience. If I’d stopped to discuss the scene, then you wouldn’t’ve—”

The indifferent expression was gone, Sherlock’s lips were twisted. “I wouldn’t have what? Fallen apart like, like, like—” he was stumbling over the words and John knew he was searching for something adequately disparaging.

“Like, that? Sherlock, we didn’t discuss safe words!” John was getting angry. “Not even agreeing to the colour system! I’m the one with experience, it was my job—”

Sherlock bristled and matched John’s anger. He cut John off, “ _ Your _ job?! You’re a sub! It’s my—”

“Yeah, but I’ve actually had sex before! I should’ve—”

“So, that’s what it is, is it? That I’m a virgin, so I’m some pathetic wilting flower?!”

“No! God, Sherlock. I was so desperate to get into your pants and when you offered, all my sense flew out the window. Being a sub isn’t just following orders, it’s my job to help you, to remind you of things. We’re supposed to be a team! So when you need help, I assist. When you need a reminder of proper etiquette, I need to step up.”

Sherlock didn’t respond. John let him mull it over for a moment.

“Besides, I don’t think you’re a virgin anymore,” John said with a slight smile. It was clear Sherlock was insecure, but he didn’t need to be in the first place. John could put this to bed.

A furrow appeared above Sherlock’s nose as he took in this information.

“You didn’t take advantage,” Sherlock finally said. John was taken aback. Sherlock must have noticed, because he continued with, “You’re worried that my consent was dubious. You needn’t be. Regardless of your belief that the sub should somehow stop the Dom and negotiate a scene when spontaneous sex happens—which is ridiculous—I initiated and I was enthusiastic throughout.”

John didn’t quite agree, but his confusion was more important than an argument. “Then why did you drop?”

Sherlock waved his hand as if it were irrelevant. “You’re worried about the nature of our relationship.”

“No.” John wasn’t going to let this go. “No, I mean, yes I am. I mean, I need to know why you dropped, so it doesn’t happen again.”

“You’re planning on it happening again?” The  _ “it” _ Sherlock was referring to was clearly sex.

“If you want it to,” John said.

Sherlock looked at him like he was an idiot. “Of course I want it to happen again. I just don’t understand why you’re still here.”

John waited. He knew there was more.

“My tastes in sex are…” he searched for a word,  _ “…different,” _ he settled on and John knew he meant something much more derogatory, “and I don’t understand why you’re acting like you’re going to stay.”

“I want to stay,” John said. He really wanted to, and since it seemed like Sherlock wanted that too, he didn’t bother to qualify the statement with  _ “if you want me to.” _

“Good,” Sherlock said with finality and lightly patted John’s thigh, indicating he should stand so they could get up. A couple of John’s joints cracked as he got to his feet and he tried not to show how embarrassed he was by the sounds. Sherlock took the scissors that John didn’t realize he was still holding, set them on the nightstand, stretched and said, “You’ll move into my room, then. What’s your safe word?”

John was nonplussed. Did that mean they were fine? Were they going to continue having sex?

Sherlock looked at John expectantly. “You must have some, seeing as how you keep going on about all the sex you’ve had.” He got that wrinkle above his nose as he said that. “Since I don’t have any, we’ll use yours.”

John shook himself out of his surprise. That’d be a yes on the sex then. “Um, red, yellow and green is fine.”

With that Sherlock nodded. “I’ll clear out space for you while you pack.”

John nodded. Sherlock had said he wanted to be exclusive earlier—no, he’d said that he didn’t want John to sleep with other people. Now that Sherlock had a taste for sex, would he want to have other subs? “Are we exclusive then?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, looking piercingly at John. “I told you, I don’t want you sleeping with anyone else.”

“Just making sure,” John said. “And we’re going to stay married and all that?”

“Yesss,” Sherlock hissed, he was glaring, but there was something vulnerable there that made John think it was a mask.

“Ok, good. Glad we cleared that up,” he said placatingly.

Sherlock nodded and moved over to his chest of drawers. He had just opened one when John’s stomach growled. John flushed with embarrassment as Sherlock straightened and turned on him. “You’re hungry,” he said flatly.

“Um, a bit. I’m fine, though. Really. I can eat while I’m packing.”

“Nonsense. You don’t have any food at your flat. Get dressed. I don’t have any food here, but I know a nice little Italian place; the food is excellent.” With that Sherlock started putting on his clothing. He made a face when he realized how wrinkled his shirt was.

John wanted to argue. He didn’t need his Dom to take care of him and he liked being self-sufficient. But he was hungry, and the apple in his pocket wasn’t going to cut it.

**“John, get dressed,”** Sherlock commanded lightly.

The urge to obey wasn’t strong. John could have shaken it off if he’d really wanted to. But, he rationalized, Sherlock might need to take care of him. The drop was over, but their relationship was beginning. If this was something Sherlock needed to do, he should let him. (It was absolutely not that he was starving and heavily sauced noodles sounded like heaven.)

With that, John pulled on his clothing. On their way out, he set the apple in his pocket on the desk and threw the core away. His pocket was damp and smelled funny, but John was pretty sure he smelt worse. He would have asked for a shower, but Sherlock was already down the stairs. He bounded down after him, saying goodbye to Mrs Hudson on his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray, they’re sorting things out!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angelo's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some world building. Just a little wrap up before the next chapter. Huge thanks to my betas [mariaWASD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariaWASD/pseuds/mariaWASD) and [Couldbeamidget](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Couldbeamidget/pseuds/Couldbeamidget)who can't be blamed for any remaining errors, since I change things every five seconds right up to posting.

John set foot on the pavement outside Baker Street. It was dark now and he wondered how late it was. His worries were eased when they turned on to a corner with more foot traffic. It was still early evening, it was just so dark because it was winter.

Sherlock held the door to a chic little place on Northumberland Street. The heavenly smells of basil, sun-dried tomatoes and lamb hit his nose and his stomach growled again. They were shown to a table in front of a window. Sherlock sat against the wall. John slid into the bench, back to the street. He could see the small tables filled with Doms and their moony-eyed subs. John blushed slightly, realizing this was a date.

Angelo, the restaurant owner, came to greet them. He practically cheered when Sherlock introduced John as his sub. When he ran off to get a candle Sherlock explained that he’d gotten Angelo off on a murder charge.

As John watched his Dom interact with the restaurant owner, a sub like himself, John didn't feel jealous. Their relationship was new and John had expected himself to act possessive until he had a collar as he had in the past. Perhaps, the ring helped.

Or, maybe it was just Sherlock. He didn't try to dominate Angelo; in fact, they interacted as two subs normally would. John was shocked. He'd never met a Dom that didn't project his dominance. And though they were usually calmer around subs, Doms that were aggressive with other Doms were typically aggressive around subs. And John had seen Sherlock with Greg. Sherlock was the epitome of an aggressive Dom. The two behaviours usually went hand in hand.

Sherlock wasn’t like that at all, John marvelled.

It boded well for their relationship. John didn't like to be around people that were on “high alert” all the time. It was exhausting, and ever since he came back, it was even more so. It made his PTSD worse.

John's breath caught. He suddenly realized there had been something important missing from their marriage folders. He'd seen their test results, but he hadn't seen any medical records per se. Sherlock didn't know (unless he'd somehow deduced) that John had PTSD. He didn't know that John had broken his arm when he'd been eight. He didn't know about all of the colds, the ear infections… he didn't know anything that normal Doms needed in order to keep their subs healthy.

And, he didn't have Sherlock's medical history. It was more important for John to have it (and not just because he couldn't deduce it) because Sherlock was the one being restrained. He needed to know if Sherlock had any broken bones he needed to be careful with, if he had any joint pain, if he had any mental issues John had to watch out for. Did Sherlock have depression? Any medications? Any allergies? John needed to know these things.

Of course, people could always have things that weren't in the medical records. John's own depression wasn't in his. He'd made sure that Ella thought everything was related to his PTSD.

"Hey, Sherlock—" John cut himself off when Angelo came over to take their orders.

He couldn't muster up the courage when Angelo left. What if Sherlock didn't know about the PTSD? He was mostly fine. The only problem was…

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock was trying unsuccessfully to hide a smug smile.

"Where's my cane?"

The self-satisfied smile broke free. "Where you left it."

John couldn't help but look around himself despite knowing that he left the cane at home. "When did I..." he trailed off as he tried to think.

"When I told you to come to the bedroom."

\----

Sherlock was pleased with himself. He had cured his sub's limp. John had noticed and he didn't grab his leg. He wasn't wondering how he was going to make it home. The plan had worked perfectly!

"When did I...?" John looked up and into middle distance.

"When I told you to come to the bedroom." A long time. Hours and hours, even a nap in between. Sherlock didn't know what exactly reminded John that he needed the cane but he'd figure it out. Not now, of course, now he needed to distract John again. If only their food had arrived! Sherlock could ask him how it tasted and give him a bite of his own. John had ordered something good, but Sherlock had deduced he'd like the ravioli more. If he was wrong he'd have more information to try again next time.

And Angelo had been so happy to see him matched with someone. He'd insisted Sherlock would make a good Dom but Sherlock had thought it was nonsense. Who would want him? No one. No one had ever been interested in him at all. There was that one man, in university—

"What?" John asked, eyes sharp and his face twisted into anger.

Sherlock felt his eyes widen. Why was John angry? Sherlock guessed John needed more information. "You stood without it. I knew that if I took you for on case you'd remember, but if I took you to bed instead you'd—"

"You had sex with me to cure my limp?!"

"Well, yes. But—"

"Are you serious?!"

"John, calm down, you're making a scene."

"I'm making a scene?! You haven't seen a scene!"

**"John, sit down,"** Sherlock hadn't wanted to command him but John looked like he was about to leave. Sherlock couldn't let him leave. Not without explaining, he had to try to fix this!

John fell onto the bench as if he'd collapsed. He ground his teeth and glared at Sherlock.

"Never do that again."

Sherlock opened his mouth then closed it again. Did John mean having sex to cure his limp? He wouldn't have to. John had stood, it was fixed. What did he mean then?

"Never command me like that again," John said darkly, clearly seeing that Sherlock hadn’t understood.

"But, you..." Sherlock trailed off at the fire in John's eyes. Still, he had to explain himself. He tried a different way, "I couldn't let you leave. I..." Sherlock swallowed thickly but continued, "...don't want a divorce."

"Oh," John's entire posture went lax and he sighed.

Sherlock waited. Did that mean John was going to stay? Was he no longer mad?

John looked back up at Sherlock with determination and Sherlock held his breath.

"I'm not divorcing you. I'm mad because even though you think I didn't take advantage of you, we had sex for the wrong reasons. I mean, losing your virginity is a—"

"Virginity is a stupid social construct and has nothing to do with real life."

"—special event and, wait. What?"

"I know there's a mass cultural delusion that losing one's virginity has to be some sort of ritual like birthday parties—"

John laughed. Sherlock snapped his mouth shut and felt his cheeks pinken. He'd said something stupid, apparently. Now John was laughing at him.

"No, Sherlock, no," John said when his giggles died down and he noticed how embarrassed Sherlock was. "I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at the idea that birthday parties and virginity are the same."

"They are!" Sherlock exclaimed. "They both involve attention on someone deemed special for no real reason, they both are socially accepted as something to be congratulated and bragged about and they both involve certain expectations."

Billy came and unobtrusively set their food in front of them. Sherlock ignored him except for moving his and John's wine glasses so they'd be easier to fill.

"I mean, think about it, John. If the special person doesn't have everything 'perfect,' to their standards—which they never tell anyone and just expect people to know—they’re upset." Sherlock took a  deep breath; he hadn't taken a breath at all during his rant.

John looked thoughtful and swirled the wine in his glass. After a moment, an aeon for Sherlock, he said, "You know, you're right. I never thought about it that way before."

Sherlock couldn't believe it. Had John agreed with him? No one had ever agreed with him. "Really?"

"Yeah. I remember that when I lost my virginity, I had all these ideas of what it should be like that I never told my Dom and it was disappointing."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the images John's words conjured. John, at the hands of another Dom. A woman? A man? He took comfort from the fact that John smiled at him when he stopped thinking about that experience and his thoughts changed to his and Sherlock's.

"It's still wrong that we had sex to fix my limp. That was your first time and I didn't even finish you."

Sherlock didn't agree but it hardly mattered. "You can make it up to me when we get back." It was a bold statement, but he thought he could get away with it.

John smiled. "I will," his voice layered with promise. John widened his mouth a little too much for the tomato he was eating.

Sherlock shivered and offered John a bite of his ravioli from his fork. John met his eyes and took more of the fork into his mouth than necessary. Sherlock held in the noise he wanted to make but shifted in his seat.

John noticed and smirked.

Sherlock swallowed thickly and poured John more wine from the bottle Billy had left.

\----

“It’s still wrong that we had sex to fix my limp,” John said. “That was your first time and I didn’t even finish you.” He was starting to feel rather guilty about the whole thing.

Before he could get too worked up, Sherlock said, “You can make it up to me when we get back.”

And, oh, John was tempted to abandon their food and run back to the flat. But, he was starving and he’d need the energy for the filthy things he wanted to do to this man. “I will.”

After a rather suggestive bite of his very tasty food, he took a drink of wine. He didn’t want to get drunk, or even tipsy. But it was a fine vintage and it would be a pity to waste. Plus, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he was slightly nervous. He needed this to go well. He had to prove himself to be a worthy sub after all of Sherlock’s efforts.

Sherlock speared a ravioli and held it out for John to eat off his fork. John might have baulked at such an ostentatious display in such a public place, but he thought it might be a good way to get Sherlock worked up. He held Sherlock’s gaze and bit the fork, taking it deeper than necessary and pulling off slowly. He licked his lips after. It was so tasty, he nearly missed Sherlock shifting in his seat.

Plans started forming in John’s mind. He wasn’t sure it was a wise idea to restrain his Dom so soon after it’d caused a drop, but John was rather talented with his mouth. He’d had plenty of male lovers and once he got his technique down he was praised frequently. He didn’t need Sherlock at his mercy with restraints, he’d have him at his mercy as soon as his lips were on his cock.

At the thought, John licked his fork. Sherlock let out a little sound, barely audible over the din of the restaurant.

“Bill!” Sherlock demanded of the server in a rather strangled tone.

John wasn’t opposed to leaving, but he was sad to abandon his food. “Can we get boxes?” he added before the waiter could leave.

Angelo came out and refused to let Sherlock pay. John could see his Dom grinding his teeth, holding in a command to just let them leave. It filled John with warmth. Sherlock wasn’t polite by any means—his clipped words to the owner left much to be desired—but he was a good Dom.

Billy brought boxes and stoppered the wine and John had just enough time to collect everything before Sherlock’s command to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time is smut.


	12. Back Alley Blowjob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think the title covers it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd  
> Sorry for not following through on everything, I'm going to update the tags and mark it as complete since this is an acceptable ending place. :)

**“Come along, John,”** Sherlock commanded. He didn’t think John realized that he hadn’t paid for the meal—Angelo hadn’t let him—and he thought if his sub knew he’d be upset. Normally subs liked to bask in the perks their Dom’s had and many would take advantage of Angelo’s hospitality. However, John was different. Sherlock suspected that John would take offence to not paying for an eighty-pound bottle of wine, never mind the two dishes.

Of course, there was that small part of Sherlock that told him that taking handouts from a sub that wasn’t his wasn’t acceptable. But, Sherlock ignored that. It wasn’t a handout, it was payment for services rendered. It wasn’t like he charged people for solving their crimes.

Well, he might have to now. John wasn’t an idiot, he would catch on eventually.

And, there was a thought. If he charged for his services and John assisted him then part of that pay was for John, and John wouldn’t have to leave or bother finding a job. He might even forget about paying his share of the bills.

\----

John trotted along behind Sherlock. He did his best to juggle the boxes of food and the bottle of wine and keep track of his surroundings enough that he stayed two to three steps behind his Dom and didn’t run into anyone on the crowded pavement.

Sherlock’s stride got shorter and shorter and his fists balled the further they walked, he seemed to be getting agitated. Sherlock wasn’t the only one. It was making it near impossible for John to manage everything.

Suddenly, Sherlock stopped.

\----

Sherlock tried to slow down so John would walk next to him but John kept slowing down. People were brushing shoulders with him earlier so he understood why John didn’t walk next to him then but now the pavement was clear so there was no reason for why John would keep up the archaic tradition of walking two paces behind.

Finally, he lost patience and stopped short, spinning to face his sub.

John couldn’t stop fast enough and ran straight into him. The food fell to the ground but Sherlock caught the wine.

“Shit, oh bloody hell, it got everywhere,” John babbled, wiping at Sherlock’s coat.

Someone called for a punishment from out a window and Sherlock snarled at them.

“Sorry,” John said, wincing.

Sherlock could see John was imagining punishment and Sherlock briefly considered allowing John to continue walking behind so he wouldn’t think that he was a bad sub and that walking side by side was some sort of punishment but dismissed the thought immediately. If he allowed John to walk behind he’d just sit back there ruminating on how he was going to be punished and the mood they’d built during dinner would be completely ruined.

Sherlock wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Don’t worry about it, you can take it to the cleaners tomorrow. I have lots of coats,” he said and took John’s hand in his.

John frowned, confusion causing his brow to furrow before he allowed Sherlock to pull him along. He tried to take his hand back but Sherlock refused to let go. John then tried to fall behind but Sherlock yanked on him until they were walking side by side.

Quick glances told Sherlock that John’s brow was still furrowed and every once in a while John opened his mouth, to ask a question or to protest, but he didn’t speak. He was still tense. Sherlock let go of John’s hand and before John could escape he put his hand at the small of John’s back.

John tensed further, but only for a second. The next time Sherlock looked down John was smiling. It wasn’t a wide smile, it was softer and a little shy. Sherlock added it to his “John” folder on his hard drive and made a mental note to make a new folder for John’s smiles in his John’s expressions folder.

Then at least he wouldn’t run across John’s tongue, slowly licking alfredo sauce off his bottom lip.

When they stopped for the last light before Baker Street Sherlock leaned down and whispered into John’s ear, “Don’t think that I’ve forgotten your behaviour.” John’s spine stiffened so Sherlock added, “Licking my fork like that. Were you trying to get me hard in the restaurant?”

John didn’t answer but even in the dim light Sherlock could see the blush on the tips of John’s ears.

“You nearly succeeded. Why do you think it took me so long to stand? Why it took us so long to leave?”

John shifted on the sidewalk.

“Why do you think I let the argument with Angelo drag on?”

\----

The corner of John’s lip twitched up into a smile. He knew what Sherlock was doing, he was trying to recover the evening. It had gone a bit sideways there but John understood, now, that Sherlock had been trying to get John to walk next to him the whole time. If Sherlock had been a sub, or, hell, even a different Dom, John would have walked beside them as soon as the pavement allowed. But Sherlock was his, and he had been trying to seduce him by being submissive but all he’d done was frustrate them both (and spill the leftovers).

The light changed before Sherlock could say anything more and John stalked out in front. Sherlock caught up and put his hand back on John’s back.

That’s when John grabbed Sherlock’s arm and spun him into an alley. He pulled Sherlock down, past a skip.

Sherlock spun them and pushed John into the bricks and pulled his mouth to his. John stood on his toes, trying to get more, to get closer. Sherlock let a little noise, a hum, from deep in his throat. John answered without thinking, a desperate nasally noise.

God, the things Sherlock did to him.

John felt Sherlock’s hand yanking on the back of his jumper before sliding onto the skin of the small of his back. As Sherlock tried to stuff that large hand into his pants, causing his waistband to push into his abdomen uncomfortably.

John wanted to lower his hands, to undo his button and his zip, but he couldn’t make himself do so. He couldn’t let go of that hair, he couldn’t help but run his other hand down that long neck, yank on the collar of that posh shirt, undo the button of that food stained jacket. He needed to touch Sherlock’s skin. He needed… Why were there so many buttons? He needed… They’re too small, can’t one-handed. He needed… He was dizzy. He needed… He needed…

**“Breathe, John.”**

John took a deep breath, he smelled the wine on Sherlock’s breath, the sauce stuck to his clothing, the smell of sex—faint but still clinging to both of them from the afternoon’s activities. Sherlock had them enclosed, his coat hung open, enveloping John, his head towered over and now both his arms were raised, to the sides of John’s head next to his ears.

Sherlock was all around him. Just the two of them existed.

John exhaled.

“Good boy,” Sherlock whispered.

John shivered. He wasn’t sure he exactly approved of being called boy, but the praise was nice.

“What do you want, hm? Why did you drag us into this filthy alley?” Sherlock whispered, breath tickling John’s ear. Sherlock brushed his cheek against John’s before staring into his eyes. “Do you want me? Do you want to get on your knees? Take me into your mouth? I haven’t cleaned, you’ll be able to taste my semen.”

John let out a breathy little sound. Oh, yes. He wanted that.

Sherlock brushed John’s other cheek and spoke into his ear, “You like that, don’t you? Do you want me to use you? Command your every action, every lick?” Sherlock nibbled on John’s earlobe. “Or do you want to take control? Show me your skills, make me scream in public?”

“Oh,” John gasped and groaned when Sherlock latched onto his neck, sucking another claiming mark into the skin just under his jaw.

**“On your knees, John.”**

God, yes. John fell to his knees and nuzzled Sherlock’s thigh. He took a deep breath and looked up, silently pleading for more commands.

Sherlock was towering over him, his forearms still on the wall, his long coat hiding John from whoever had an angle the skip wasn’t hiding. His eyes were sharp and his mouth was hanging open.

**“Tease me, but don’t take me out.”**

John wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s hips before leaning forward. There was a slight bulge and John aimed for it, running his nose along Sherlock’s half hard prick.

A gasp from above told John he was on the right track. He started mouthing the rapidly tenting fabric, not tonguing so as to not dry out his mouth, simply moving his lips and pressing in, using his hold on Sherlock’s narrow hips as leverage. Once he had a feeling for his Dom’s prick (angled down, rock hard) John carefully used his teeth to gently nibble the tip. When Sherlock started shifting uncomfortably John started dragging his nose around the base.

**“Undo my trousers.”**

John let go of Sherlock’s hips and scrambled to obey. He undid the button and lowered the zip before he lost all control and pulled Sherlock’s cock so it was no longer confined under Sherlock’s trousers-but still in his pants and started mouthing it. He pulled the tip into his mouth, uncaring that the silk was drying out his mouth and sucked.

Sherlock groaned and John wanted to tell him to quiet down, but he couldn’t pause long enough to do so. He licked from base to tip, pushing Sherlock’s erection up, only barely stifling his own moan. Soon the silk was soaked and John realized his own erection was trapped uncomfortably. He used one hand to adjust himself while the other kneaded Sherlock’s thigh.

“Please,” he whispered, before kissing along Sherlock’s bobbing cock.  _ “Please,  _ Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s body shuddered and he made a strangled noise before he gave the order.  **“Take me in your mouth, suck me.”**

John yanked Sherlock’s pants down, pulling his trousers with them, halfway down his Dom’s thighs. “Thank you,” he gasped before taking half Sherlock’s erection in his mouth and sucking desperately.

He moaned around Sherlock’s prick and his eyes rolled back in his head. This, oh god,  _ this _ is what he needed. He’d missed this. His mouth flooded with saliva, a reaction to the taste of come and stale lubricant.

“Sher,” he gasped, unable to pull away long enough to say the second syllable. He wrapped his lips around the tip, working Sherlock’s foreskin down while sucking. His hand, holding Sherlock’s prick, flexed. He wanted to stroke his Dom but he’d only been commanded to suck and there wasn’t enough spit anyway.

\----

Sherlock whimpered and his hand dropped, cradling John’s head, fingers digging into his hair. The motion unsteadied him and he fell forward, propping himself against the brick on his elbow and resting his forehead on his forearm. His fist curled into a ball and he ground his teeth. He couldn’t force John’s head down. He couldn’t thrust into that warm mouth. He couldn’t but, god, he wanted to.

John’s tongue flattened and he took Sherlock deeper, working his way down until his mouth hit his hand, then John’s hand was gone and his nose pressed into Sherlock’s pubic hair.

“Nnnguh!” Sherlock clawed the back of John’s head and dug his nails into his palm. His back arched and he threw his head back. “John!”

“Mmm,” John hummed and started bobbing. Once he’d established a rhythm and had his hand back around the base of Sherlock’s cock he started sucking.

Sherlock panted and squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to come, he could already feel the pressure building.  _ Not yet! _

**“Slow down,”** he commanded.

John whimpered at the command but obeyed. He sunk down at a glacial speed and on the way up he sucked, flicking the tip of Sherlock’s prick with his tongue before sliding back down.

**“Tease yourself.”**

There was the sound of rustling and Sherlock knew that John was groping himself over his denims.

“Oh, god,” Sherlock gasped. So much input. If Sherlock had known sex could be like this he would have had it long ago. This was better than the drugs. And the power he had over John was intoxicating. John would do whatever he commanded, a strong independent man like that trusted that Sherlock wouldn’t abuse him. In fact, Sherlock suspected John had accepted him as his Dom.

And now he was on his knees, his rhythm growing sloppy, little sounds escaping with every exhale. He was getting desperate, he wanted release, he was as turned on as Sherlock was.

**“Speed up, make me come,”** he demanded. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed this.

John hummed and Sherlock could tell John was getting close himself. He sped his bobbing, his suction intermittent—clearly related to the strokes he was giving himself—and John started working his other hand over Sherlock’s shaft.

**“Faster, John.”** He was so close. He looked down, wanting to capture the visual.

John glanced up and Sherlock felt a shiver through his spine when their eyes met. It must have affected John as well because he hit Sherlock with his tooth. Sherlock winced, but the pain was brief, becoming pleasure in less than a second.

Sherlock felt the pressure reach a crest and it took all his willpower to warn John instead of pushing his head down and forcing his cock deep down that throat.

\----

Even with the warning, John wasn’t prepared. He was only holding the head in his mouth and using his tongue to rub that sensitive area under the retracted foreskin. There was a lot of come, far more than John was expecting, especially since Sherlock had come once already today.

He hadn’t been commanded to swallow, but he hadn’t gotten any instructions at all and habit had him holding it in his mouth. What hadn’t escaped and was dripping down his chin.

Sherlock was staring down at him in wonder, still not giving him any commands. John was tempted to spit but god, his hand was still on his cock and he desperately wanted to come. So, making sure to maintain eye contact he swallowed.

“Fuck,” Sherlock swore quietly under his breath. His cock twitched, bringing with it a bead of semen.

John wasn’t fond of the taste, but this was Sherlock’s first time and he wanted to make it as good as possible. So, he lapped the bead up carefully, not wanting to hurt Sherlock while he was sensitive.

Sherlock ran his fingers through John’s hair and John relished the tender touch. When Sherlock started tucking himself away John went to wipe his chin. He kept his other hand moving, he hadn’t been commanded to stop. He was very glad he had put his pants back on. He couldn’t imagine how chafed he’d be without them.

**“Leave it,”** Sherlock said and John held his hand in mid-air.

He blushed, worried Sherlock would make him walk home like this. He couldn’t help but be turned on by the idea. It probably wasn’t eleven yet (the time when the more sexual displays of Dom/sub relationships were allowed in public—but not one am, the time when almost all restrictions lifted), they could get in quite a bit of trouble if they met someone on the street. But, probably not as much trouble as if they had gotten caught in this alley. John's hips started moving as he stroked his erection.

John shut his eyes. God, his kink was going to get him into trouble.

Sherlock growled and John found himself pushed onto his back. Sherlock dropped on top of him, heavy body pressing him into the filthy ground. John’s hand was caught between them, pressing hard into his erection. John bit his lip and looked at his Dom. Sherlock looked feral and he licked the come from John’s face before capturing his mouth in a filthy kiss.

John’s hands moved on their own accord, the one on his cock moving to Sherlock’s arse and digging his fingers into the plush thing. The other wrapped around Sherlock’s back, pressing into the space between Sherlock’s shoulder blades. Sherlock cradled the back of John’s head in one hand and pressed his hips into the ground with the other. John curled his fingers, trying to pull Sherlock closer as their tongues wrapped around each other. John was gasping in air every time he could. He was nearly frantic with the need to come. He hadn’t felt like this since he was a teenager. He was desperate.

“Please,” he begged when Sherlock released his mouth to get a breath.

Sherlock hummed through his nose and released John’s hip, yanking up his shirt and sliding his hand along John’s flank.

John started frotting against Sherlock’s hip, trying to be careful of his Dom’s spent cock but too desperate to try and move down to his thigh.

He bucked against Sherlock, he was close, so close. Sherlock pinched his nipple and nipped at his lower lip.

“Please,” he begged again. He was there, right on edge. He didn’t think he could stop himself from coming if he tried. And he was willing to endure punishment and come anyway if Sherlock didn’t use enough command to force him still.

“Come.”

John’s hips bucked only once, he pressed his body as close to Sherlock as he could get and he came, imaging his come on Sherlock’s body.

“Good boy,” Sherlock said. He kissed John tenderly before resting on an elbow and running his hand gently down the side of his face.

John raised his head and stole a kiss before thinking,  _ If I'm not careful I’m going to fall in love with you. _

Sherlock awkwardly made it to his feet, taking John’s hand and pulling him up too. John’s knees were weak and he was a tad unsteady. Plus his pants were filthy and come was everywhere, getting rubbed into his pubic hair. He hadn’t shaved before the wedding, he hadn’t expected this relationship to become physical so fast. Should he shave now? Would Sherlock want him to? John knew most Dom’s would have already made at least a comment about it, if not demanding him to depilate before they had sex with him. But, Sherlock wasn’t a usual Dom.

He was better.

John didn’t want to let go of Sherlock’s hand. It seemed that Sherlock didn’t want to let go either. Their hands hung, both waiting to see what the other would do. John swallowed and took a chance, he entwined their fingers.

A quick glance at Sherlock’s face revealed a soft smile and, even though he couldn’t see it, he suspected Sherlock was blushing.

Sherlock had set the wine on the lid of one of the bins next to him. John hadn’t even noticed him doing it. He had forgotten all about their dinner. To his chagrin, he realized that the spilt takeaway containers were probably still littering the pavement. John took the wine in his other hand and wiped at his face with the sleeve covering his wrist, just in case Sherlock missed any. He glanced surreptitiously at his Dom while he did so but Sherlock didn’t protest.

He was too busy glowing.

John took in Sherlock’s bright eyes, his wild hair, his air of smug satisfaction and joy and realized they were all for him. This man was his. And he’d just given him his first blow job. He’d satisfied his Dom.

Sherlock tried to fix John’s hair before giving up and leading John out of the alley, holding his hand tightly and making sure John walked next to him. John thought to himself,  _ I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. _ He certainly hadn’t after giving a blow job or coming in his pants. He tried to pull the sticky things away from his body subtly but winced when they pulled out some hair.

He was the luckiest sub on the Earth and he couldn’t wait to see where his relationship with Sherlock led him next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel the need to write more of this to deliver on everything I should have done I am allowing my account to auto add to collections because I'm not sure works inspired will auto connect? Try that first tho.   
> Thanks for reading <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are going to be shorter so I can post more often and there's less pressure. :)

Sherlock was incandescently happy. His sub was plodding along beside him, reaching down and trying to adjust himself rather frequently. His mouth always made a little frown when he did but his eyes were bright and Sherlock was rather pleased with himself. He’d gotten John to come in his pants and now anyone they came into contact with would know—well, maybe not, they weren’t observant. _Sherlock_ knew. There was also a little fleck of dried come on John’s jaw. Most people wouldn’t notice, and if they did they wouldn’t know what it was. It looked like a patch of dead skin. Sherlock knew better and he was wondering how he could get John clean and have the spot remain.

He was high on endorphins and he was pretty sure he’d never felt this complete. He had given orders before, in fact, he was in the habit of bossing around Lestrade and his team. Commanding John was completely different.

Perhaps he could put John in the bath. He could wash him, watch rivulets of water run down his chest, his arms, his _neck_ …

“Sherlock,” John said in a low hissing voice.

He snapped out of his daydream and saw that John was tense, his jaw set, his shoulders stiff and he was glancing suspiciously at a cab.

With good reason. The cab was empty except for the driver, who was staring at them, following them at a crawl.

Sherlock stopped, deducing what he could. There wasn’t much, the light was too dim to get a read on the driver. When Sherlock stopped both John and the cabbie did too.

It was intriguing. He decided it was better to confront the driver here instead of leading him to the flat. The man might already have Sherlock’s address—it was on his website—but it’d be safer for John and Mrs Hudson to be out in the open. Sherlock glanced around, checking for possible accomplices before walking to the vehicle and rapping on the Driver’s side window.

The window came down smoothly but the cabbie didn’t come out of the shadow or say anything.

Desperate to deduce something Sherlock leaned forward, resting his forearms on the door, his hands turned so they weren’t reaching into the car.

With a fast motion, the cabbie’s hand moved and Sherlock felt a sharp stab in his arm. He reeled backwards, seeing a hypodermic needle, the plunger pressed all the way down. Sherlock yanked it out and threw it from his body. Too slow, his reactions were normally exceptional, but he’d had too much wine and the orgasm didn’t help.

Sherlock blinked, his eyelids getting heavy. John was shouting.

God, John! He was in danger!

**“Run, John.”** Sherlock realized with a sinking heart that the command—which should have been a ten—had only been a two.

**“Against the wall, sub,”** the cabbie commanded John as he got out of the car.

To Sherlock’s horror, John’s face twisted and he followed the command. His whole body was quivering and Sherlock made a strangled desperate sound. He needed to command his sub. He needed to get John out of here. John was his sub, his responsibility, and here he was, following another Dom’s commands.

Sherlock had thought John had accepted him as his Dom. But, apparently not. If he had he could have shaken the other man off despite the force of his order since it conflicted with Sherlock’s.

“Jhn,” Sherlock tried, his mouth fumbling over the name, no command in his tone whatsoever.

The cabbie manhandled Sherlock into the backseat. The last thing he saw was John’s horrified face.

_Please, let John be ok._

\----

John was feeling warm and satisfied. He’d done well if he did say so himself. Sherlock was gliding along, but it was clear his legs were weak. A good orgasm would do that to a person.

He kept looking down at John, smiling smugly whenever he caught John adjusting himself. Since the pavement was empty John started doing it just to see that expression. Sherlock was preening and John thought he deserved to be.

This was the most comfortable John had been since he returned. If he’d known his husband, his Dom, would be like this he would have been thrilled to be married. He regretted that he’d been too busy dreading the ordeal to enjoy it properly.

A movement in a dark shop window caught John’s attention. He looked at it, but there was nothing there. It was a reflection. He looked at the street and realized there was a car following them. A cab.

Was this one of Sherlock’s brother’s tricks? A cab didn’t really seem like the stuffy man’s style.

“Sherlock,” John said quietly. He was on edge, he didn’t need to be quiet, no one in a car with the windows rolled up could hear him if he spoke normally, but he couldn’t help it.

Sherlock snapped into high alert and followed John’s stare to the cab. John looked up to see Sherlock’s reaction. Sherlock’s eyes were narrowed and he was frowning. He released John’s hand and John knew they were in danger.

The police had been to the flat, Sherlock worked with them, he’d probably put away enough criminals to have enemies everywhere.

John wished he had his gun, his cane, anything to use as a weapon besides a bottle of wine.

Sherlock stopped and John came to a halt beside him. The cabbie stopped too. John looked up to Sherlock, wanting to know what their next move was. Sherlock looked around, searching the area for additional threats. John did too. He didn’t see anything. Apparently, neither did Sherlock, he sauntered up to the cab, leaning in when the window rolled down.

John walked forward, silently objecting to the bold move.

Sherlock reeled back wildly, almost running into him. John was alarmed, what had happened? John saw it a moment before Sherlock pulled it out and threw it away.

A needle.

What the hell was going on?!

Whatever the drug was it was fast acting.

“What did you inject him with?” John demanded. **“Tell me!”**

**“Run, John,”** Sherlock commanded.

It was easy for John to shake the command off. Like hell, he was going to leave Sherlock here!

The cab door opened and John, already torn between running to help his Dom and maintaining a tactical advantage, froze.

**“Against the wall, sub.”**

The driver had so much command too much. John found himself following the command. He was horrified with himself. He’d accepted Sherlock as his Dom. This couldn’t be happening!

But, he’d been abandoned. And a couple bouts of lovemaking and a day of commands wasn’t going to fix that. It might take months for John to fully recover. John felt sick. He should have run when Sherlock commanded him. But, he’d ignored the order. Since he’d dismissed it he didn’t even have the help of a conflicting order.

He was helpless.

“Jhn,” Sherlock slurred.

The cabbie manhandled Sherlock into the black vehicle, Sherlock only putting up a feeble protest.

Sherlock’s expression made the whole thing worse. He was terrified. John wondered if he knew this man, knew what was going to happen to him… whatever it was it was going to be bad. John chocked on a sob when he realized this might be the last time he ever saw him.

He made a mental note of the licence plate, storing it in his mind as the cab pulled away and down the street. John might have been stuck against this wall, but he wasn’t commanded to not call for help. He fumbled with his mobile, dialling 999 with shaking hands.

John gave all the information he had to the Dom on the line, and the dispatcher declared he was, _“too sensitive to the situation,”_ commanding him to stay put and that he was sending a car to pick him up, much to John’s dismay. He knew he’d been abandoned, but having other people know, having the government know, was horrifying. He knew the officer coming would give him the test to see if he was a danger to himself or others, they’d pry into his marriage and if— _when_ they found Sherlock and he hadn’t been married long enough for him to damage John, he’d have to jump through hoops to keep his sister from abandonment charges.

All the while Sherlock was out there, kidnapped, and resources that could be finding him were being squandered on him.

John considered fighting the command, if he left he could give a good enough argument that he hadn’t been abandoned, but then the police might start searching for him and Christ, there was no winning. It wasn’t like he could trust any cab that pulled to the curb and he wasn’t sure where the nearest tube station was so if he could leave and contact the police to tell them where he was going he had no way of getting to his flat and his gun.

He tapped his foot and fumed silently on the quiet street.

\----

Sherlock woke, groggy and nauseated. He hadn’t been this hungover in a long time. What had he taken last night? Oh, god, he’d gotten high. Why? He’d been doing so well!

“Awake already? Slightly faster than I expected, though, that shouldn’t be a surprise, given your history.”

It was difficult for Sherlock to move his arm to block the light from his overly sensitive eyes. Who was this person?

Sherlock’s memory caught up.

“John?” he looked around blearily. He was in his flat. He’d been kidnapped and taken home.

“John!”

He needed his sub. He needed to make sure that John was ok, that he was safe. Why hadn’t he run when Sherlock told him to?

“Your little pet isn’t here. Told ‘im to wait on the street. It’s getting late, he shouldn’t have ta wait for too long.”

Sherlock growled. Bastard! He stood and took a swing at the man but everything was fuzzy and out of focus and he missed, nearly falling on his face.

The man caught him and Sherlock struggled as the man placed him in a chair.

“There you are,” he said and took the seat across.

Sherlock glared at him.

“Let’s play a game,” the man said.

Sherlock was in no mood for games he wanted the room to stop spinning, his John and a nap.

The man put out two bottles and rambled about something while Sherlock tried to get a read on his watch. He didn’t want to leave John out after eleven. He didn’t want to leave John ever, really. But he wanted to solidify his claim before he left John out.

“It’s chess,” the man said.

The room stopped spinning for a moment and Sherlock realized this was the serial killer Lestrade was after. He _knew_ it hadn’t been suicide! And a cabbie, that’s why there wasn’t a sign of a struggle.

“You got them to kill themselves like this?” That didn’t make any sense.

The man pulled out a lighter shaped like a gun.

“Oh,” Sherlock said, disappointed.

The man pointed it at Sherlock and suddenly there was a crack of a gunshot and the sound of broken glass and the man was bleeding onto Mrs Hudson’s carpet.

Sherlock stumbled over to the window and tried to calculate the angle and look across the street.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t see anything.

Sherlock decided it didn’t matter.

He heard people entering the building and footsteps on the stairs. Lestrade came in, weapon drawn.

Sherlock walked toward him and tripped over the leg of a chair, he managed to fall into it as opposed to over it so he counted it as a win.

“You ok?” Lestrade asked.

“Where’s John?” Sherlock asked. He felt well enough, though unfortunately it wasn’t a fun high, he wanted to know where his John was.

“John?”

“John! My sub! He didn’t run when I told him to!” Sherlock pointed to the ring on his finger. “Where’s John?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’m back. I didn’t think I would make it to the new year but since I did I thought I should finish this story properly. I'm happy to answer any questions. They can be dm’d on twitter

**Author's Note:**

> I’m @gizmotrinket221 on Twitter


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